SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 


Should  She  Have  Left  Him? 


By  BARCLAY  NORTH,  <wm.  c.  Hudson), 
author  of  "  The  Diamond  Button"  "  Whose 
Was  It"  " Vivier  of  Vivier,  Longman  & 
Co.,"  "On  the  Rack,"  "The  Man  With  a 
Thumb,"  "520  Per  Cent.,"  "The Dugdale 
Millions"  etc. 


ca 


NEW       YORK       AND       LONDON 
STREET  &  SMITH,    PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 

1894  by  Cassell  Pub.  Co. 
1900  by  Street  &  Smith 

Should  She  Have  Left  Him? 


SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 


BOOK  I.— REVELATION. 
CHAPTER  I. 

A  SARATOGA  EVENING. 

THE  number  ended  with  a  crash  of  horns  and 
kettledrums.  Trescotte,  under  the  pretense  of  loop 
ing  up  a  swaying  branch  of  the  creeping  vine,  threat 
ening  havoc  to  the  coiffure  of  his  bride  of  three 
months,  leaned  over  her  and  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"I'll  lure  Davis  away  with  the  bait  of  a  cigar; 
then  shake  him  and  come  to  you  for  a  stroll  in  the 
park  before  retiring." 

Mrs.  Trescotte,  young  and  beautiful,  with  shining 
eyes  lifted  a  beaming  acquiescence. 

For  a  fleeting  moment  Trescotte  was  tempted  to 
defy  the  conventionalities  and  embrace  his  wife 
before  the  multitude.  For  a  fleeting  moment,  too, 
Tracey  Harte,  leaning  against  a  pillar  in  an  adorable 
attitude,  contemplated  existence  with  such  a  woman 
apart  from  club,  stable,  and  the  English  valet  he  had 
just  achieved. 

As  Trescotte,  folio  wed  by  Davis,  carefully  threaded 


*  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HlAft 

his  way  among  the  women  crowding  the  veranda, 
Mrs.  Trescotte  moved  her  chair  so  that  she  looked 
out  upon  the  park  within  the  three  sides  of  the 
great  building,  to  the  disappointment  of  Tracey 
Harte,  who  had  seen,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband, 
opportunity  to  put  his  own  fascinations  on  dress 
parade. 

Mrs.  Trescotte  was  very  happy.  Life  with  Tres 
cotte  was  all  she  had  imagined  it  to  be  in  the  days 
of  dreams  and  promise. 

The  orchestra  began  another  number.  This  time 
a  selection  in  accord  with  her  mood — tenderly 
melodious,  with  a  deep  plaintive  undertone  of  rest 
and  peace.  She  surrendered  herself  to  its  enjoy 
ment  and  gazed  out  upon  the  green  lawn  with  its 
black  shadows  and  the  broad  graveled  paths,  where 
the  electric  lights  photographed  in  fantastic  net 
work  the  limbs  and  foliage  of  the  trees  through 
which  they  shone,  dimly  conscious  that  immediately 
beneath  her  were  seated  two  men  who  smoked  fra 
grant  cigars  and  murmured  a  conversation  the  music 
did  not  interrupt. 

She  was  very  happy.  At  another  time  she  would 
have  resented  this  desecration  of  music,  but  now 
everything  seemed  to  fit  into  her  mood — the  music, 
the  lights,  the  soft  languorous  air,  the  swaying 
branches,  their  responsive  shadows  on  the  broad 
graveled  paths,  the  murmuring  voices  beneath,  even 
the  fragrant  smoke  of  the  cigars — all  seemed  to  be 
of  the  atmosphere  of  love. 

Of  course,  I  know  this  was  very  absurd  in  a  young 


A    SARATOGA  EVENING.  3 

woman  of  fashion  of  the  highest  social  rank,  and 
who  had  been  married  all  of  three  months — at  vul 
gar  Saratoga,  too — but  then,  who  of  us  have  not 
had  our  aberrations. 

The  music  died  away — so  softly  indeed  that  Mrs. 
Trescotte  was  only  made  conscious  of  the  end  of  the 
programme  by  the  movement  of  the  people  on  the 
veranda.  In  a  moment  more  it  was  comparatively 
deserted.  The  musicians  gathered  up  their  instru 
ments  and  flitted  away.  The  uniformed  hall  boys 
moved  back  the  music  stands,  and  arranged  the 
chairs  into  their  customary  platoons.  Mrs.  Tres 
cotte,  now  a  conspicuous  figure  in  her  solitariness, 
continued  to  look  out  upon  the  park  with  its 
delicate  tracery  of  shadows  upon  lawn  and  broad 
graveled  paths.  The  voices  of  the  two  men 
beneath  came  up  distinct  and  audible. 

"  A  most  extraordinary  tale — such  complications/' 
said  one  voice. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  asked  the  other.  "  No  one  will  accuse 
me  of  inventing  it,  for  it  is  beyond  my  powers.*' 

"  Simply  extraordinary.  Bronson  Howard  ought 
to  get  hold  of  it  for  his  next  comedy,  by  Jove  ! " 

"  Its  tragedy,  my  boy." 

"  For  the  woman,  yes.  But  think  of  the  man's 
position.  Married  innocently  to  two  women  and 
not  knowing  which  is  his  wife.  She's  my  wife ;  no, 
she  isn't ;  yes,  she  is.  Tragedy  it  maybe,  but  broad 
comedy  as  well." 

"  I  can  see  nothing  but  the  tragedy,  the  pathos, 
the  wreck  of  lives." 


O  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

the  broad,  graveled  paths  whe""  the  delicate,  fan 
tastic  shadow  tracery  was. 

Surely  this  young  woman  had  gotten  into  the 
wrong  century.  She,  of  aristocratic  training,  from 
that  world  where  marriages  are  made  from  consid 
erations  of 

"  Well,  I  shan't  tell  them  to-night,  anyhow. 
Come,  let  us  get  a  cooling  drink,  and  then  I'm  off 
to  bed.  I  haven't  been  out  of  a  car  berth  for  twelve 
nights." 

Two  men  came  out  of  a  by-path  and  went  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  shining  lights. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte  went  up  into  the  shadows. 


CHAPTER  II. 
DOROTHY'S  IDYL. 

MRS.  TRESCOTTE  was  very  happy.  She  had  mar 
ried  the  man  of  her  choice. 

The  opposition  to  Trescotte,  because  he  lacked 
the  wealth  Mrs.  Courtenay  deemed  necessary  to  the 
place  her  daughter  should  occupy  in  the  exclusive 
world  in  which  they  moved,  had  been  dispelled, 
happily,  a  few  months  before  the  wedding. 

Trescotte  had  grown  to  manhood,  and  lived  the 
life  thereafter  of  one  having  the  assurance  of  a  large 
inheritance,  trained  to  no  pursuit  or  profession, 
When,  however,  the  elder  Trescotte  died  it  was  dis 
covered  that  he  had  devoted  the  last  decade  of  his 
life  to  turning  valuable  New  York  real  estate  into 
questionable  securities,  with  the  result  of  nearly  dis 
sipating  a  fine  property.  At  the  end  of  some 
months  of  vexatious  and  confusing  labor  the  young 
man  found  himself  in  possession  of  a  property  of 
only  eight  thousand  a  year — an  amount  which  Mrs. 
Courtenay  said  some  time  later,  when  his  income 
became  a  matter  of  concern  to  her,  any  clerk  could 
earn  in  a  twelve-month,  and  which  was  but  half  the 
amount  young  Waldemar,  son  of  the  great  German 
banker,  spent  each  year  on  his  horses  alone. 


5  SHOULD   SHE  HAl'E  LEFT  HIMt 

Waldemar  had  been  selected  as  a  son-in-law  by 
Mrs.  Courtenay  because  of  his  wealth  and  aristo 
cratic  connections  abroad. 

Trescotte's  income  was  small  compared  with  that 
which  the  world  expected  him  to  possess.  When  its 
figures  were  known  he  was  immediately  reduced 
from  that  enviable  position — a  marriageable  quan 
tity.  It  certainly  was  reprehensible  in  Trescotte, 
having  ceased  to  be  a  desirable  parti,  to  continue  to 
frequent  the  halls  of  society — to  bring  that  charm 
ing  personality,  that  winning  face,  that  graceful 
tongue,  both  wise  and  witty,  to  functions  where 
young  and  sometimes  incautious  girls  came  to  find 
husbands.  Moreover,  it  was  embarrassing  to  the 
matron  mothers.  To  drop  him  rudely  from  their 
invitation  lists  was  impossible,  for  many  of  them 
dated  their  social  success  from  the  day  when 
their  own  names  were  entered  upon  that  list  of  his 
mother's.  Besides,  he  was  widely  and  closely  con 
nected  with  the  most  exclusive  of  the  nice  people. 
Having  committed  the  unforgivable  crime  of  disap 
pointing  the  world  in  his  financial  realizations,  he 
should  have  had  the  grace  to  withdraw  himself,  with 
his  charming  personality,  his  polished  manners,  and 
his  diminished  income.  But  he  didn't,  He  went 
about  just  as  he  had  done  when  all  the  world  sup 
posed  he  would  have  the  income  of  a  millionaire.  It 
was  stupid  of  him,  I  confess,  but  really  he  was 
unconscious  of  the  crime  he  had  committed. 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  that  incomprehensible  young 
wife  of  a  very  old  man,  won  doubting  applause 


DOROTHY'S  IDYL.  9 

from  the  matrons,  by  the  remark  that  Trescotte 
was  without  redeeming  vices,  and  would  not  be  so 
dangerous  if  he  would  but  devote  himself  to  the 
young  married  women  instead  of  the  young  girls. 

Trescotte  was  yet  a  subject  of  discussion  when 
he  relieved  the  anxiety  of  all  the  matron  mothers, 
save  one,  by  devoting  himself  ardently  to  Dorothy 
Courtenay.  Mrs.  Courtenay's  anguish  was  not 
allayed  by  the  further  discovery  that  these  atten 
tions  were  not  disagreeable  to  her  daughter. 

Dorothy  had  always  given  her  mother  a  great 
deal  of  trouble.  Thinking  for  herself,  her  conclu 
sions  were  alarming,  because  in  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
opinion  they  were  radical,  not  to  say  anarchical. 
She  had  been  heard  to  express  the  belief  that  all  of 
life's  happiness  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  exclusive 
world  in  which  her  mother  lived,  and  for  which  she 
had  been  trained.  On  another  occasion  she  had 
ruined  her  father's  breakfast  by  the  remark  that 
wealth  was  not  essential  to  a  useful  life.  But 
when  she  gave  expression  to  the  heresy  that  she 
would  prefer  as  a  husband  a  man  whom  she  could 
respect  for  his  ability,  attainments,  and  correct  life — 
even  if  of  moderate  means — to  the  average  man  of 
her  acquaintance,  however  rich,  it  was  voted  in  the 
family  that  Dorothy  was  cursed  with  opinions, 
fairly  incendiary,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay  at  once  took 
her  in  hand. 

"  You  spring  from  two  of  the  great  families  of 
this  country,"  she  said,  "  and  your  life  must  be  con- 
trolled  and  directed  by  that  fact.  God  has  placed 


10  SHOULD   SHE   HATE  LEFT  HIM? 

you  in  this  station  of  life,  the  highest  in  the  land, 
and  you  have  duties  and  obligations  in  consequence 
It  is  only  within  the  present  generation  that  v, ; 
have  received  that  recognition  from  abroad  \vhicii 
is  our  due.  Now,-  we  are  received  by  the  nobility 
of  other  countries  upon  equal  ground.  This  recogni 
tion  has  only  been  obtained  by  great  caution,  inter 
marriage,  and  the  observance  of  well  fixed  rules — 
principally  the  latter.  Entrance  to  our  circle  has 
been  made  difficult,  and  only  after  the  right  to  enter 
has  been  fully  established.  The  most  frequent 
effort  has  been  made  through  marriage,  so  the 
rule  was  made  that  the  members  of  the  older 
families  should  marry  among  themselves;  this  has 
kept  the  blood  pure.  Then  it  has  been  made  a  rule 
that  wealth  should  marry  wealth.  In  England  they 
not  only  have  the  advantage  of  us  in  titles  which 
distinctly  place  the  rank,  but  they  have  also  the 
law  of  primogenitureship  by  which  fortunes  are 
kept  intact.  Here  the  whole  tendency  is  to  division 
of  wealth.  And  so,  in  order  to  keep  fortunes 
together,  we  have  been  compelled  to  concentration 
by  marriage.  An  aristocracy  is  necessary  to  the 
making  of  good  society;  and  an  aristocracy  cannot 
be  maintained  without  wealth.  We,  of  the  aristoc 
racy,  must  do  our  duty  to  the  station  of  life  in 
which  we  find  ourselves,  for  in  society  properly  con 
stituted  there  must  always  be  a  standard  of  morals, 
culture,  and  refinement,  and  that  standard  can  only 
be  maintained  by  the  best  people.  And.  therefore, 
the  best  people  must  seek  only  those  matrimonial 


DOROTHY'S  IDYL.  II 

alliances  which  make  for  the  common  good  of  our 

caste — among  themselves,  where  wealth  is." 

"  And  yet,"  replied  Dorothy,  and  I  regret  to  say, 
disputatiously,  "  Mr.  Waldemar  is  welcomed  to 
matrimonial  alliances,  though  he  is  far  enough 
removed  from  our  American  families." 

"  You  forget,"  returned  her  mother  in  her  most 
stately  manner,  "that  Mr.  Waldemar  is  allied  to 
the  nobility  of  his  native  country ;  that  on  taking 
residence  here  he  enters  our  circle  by  right  of  birth 
thus  drawing  the  bonds  between  the  best  people  of 
two  countries  closer  together,  while  he  contributes 
large  wealth  to  the  common  stock." 

"  Mr.  Trescotte,"  suggested  the  daughter,  "  is  a 
descendant  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  American 
families." 

"  Mr.  Trescotte,"  promptly  returned  the  mother 
with  much  severity,  "  has  forfeited  his  rights  by 
permitting  the  means  by  which  he  could  maintain 
the  traditions  of  his  family  and  his  place  in  our 
order  to  be  wasted." 

"  Why,  mamma,"  exclaimed  the  girl  with  that 
ridicuious  adherence  to  exact  truth  which  always  so 
disconcerted  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  it  was  his  father  who 
ruined  the  property." 

"  His  misfortune  then  ;  and  misfortunes  of  the 
kind  are  little  less  than  crimes."  And  then  the 
good  lady,  losing  her  temper,  lost  her  case  by  add- 
ing:  "It  is  not  becoming  in  you  to  dispute  me. 
You  must  give  heed  to  my  words  and  obey  me. 
Mr.  Waldemar  is  disposed  to  be  attentive  to  you, 


I*  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

and  I  demand  that  proper  respect  be  shown 
him." 

"  Mr.  Waldemar  should  first  respect  himself," 
replied  Dorothy  rebelliously.  "  His  life  does  not 
commend  him  to  a  young  woman  as  a  good  hus 
band." 

"  Now  for  Heaven's  sake,"  cried  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
actually  growing  vulgar,  as  she  grew  angrier,  '"  have 
you  been  bitten  by  the  new  craze  ?  " 

"  What  craze,  mamma  ?  " 

"  That  idea  ill-bred  people  are  so  indecently  urg 
ing,  that  woman  should  demand  the  same  purity  in 
man,  man  demands  in  woman." 

"  Is  there  such  a  craze  ?  I  did  not  know  it ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  very  proper." 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you,  Dorothy.  You  are 
wholly  unlike  your  sisters.  Where  you,  who  have 
been  brought  up  so  conservatively,  can  have  picked 
up  your  radical  notions,  I  cannot  comprehend.  But 
listen  to  me.  You  must  cease  your  encouragement 
of  Mr.  Trescotte.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  be  com 
pelled  to  deny  him  the  house." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  ended  the  discussion  by  leaving 
the  room,  having  made,  true  to  her  sex,  the  point, 
which  was  her  sole  object  in  the  conversation,  in 
her  last  remark. 

In  truth,  Mrs.  Courtenay  fled  from  the  discussion. 
She  stood  in  awe  of  her  daughter,  deny  it  to  herself 
as  she  might.  Dorothy  possessed  the  vexatious 
faculty  of  making  her  mother  appear  as  if  she  were 
uttering  false  morals  in  these  discussions,  by  the 


DOROTHY'S  IDYL.  1$ 

simple  process  of  presenting  ideas,  very  well  when 
applied  to  grocers  and  other  laboring  people,  but 
absurd  applied  to  people  of  rank  and  wealth,  with 
their  complex  obligations. 

Mrs.  Courtenay's  lecture  did  not  make  the  in 
tended  impression  on  Dorothy.  In  fact  Dorothy 
dismissed  it  as  nonsensical.  She  resented,  of  course, 
the  charge  that  she  was  encouraging  Mr.  Trescotte 
in  his  attentions  ;  she  knew  it  to  be  false.  A  rapid 
review  assured  her  that  there  had  been  noth 
ing  loverlike  in  Trescotte's  attentions,  or  in  her 
reception  of  them.  She  had  been  pleased  with  him 
from  their  first  meeting.  Intuitively  appreciating 
his  worth  early  in  their  acquaintance,  she  had  come 
to  learn  that  he  was  a  man  who,  for  his  amuse 
ments,  sought  art  rather  than  horses,  and  literature 
rather  than  gossip ;  and,  for  occupation,  scientific 
experiment  rather  than  the  stock  ticker.  Who,  for 
companions,  preferred  men  who  could  bring  to  their 
intercourse  something  more  than  the  last  quotation 
from  the  Board  and  the  weights  for  the  next  handi- 
cap,  even  if  all  of  them  did  not  frequent  the  houses 
of  Mrs.  Courtenay's  world.  Such  was  the  singular 
perversity  of  Dorothy's  nature,  that  this  appreci 
ation  of  the  man  had  operated  to  a  prejudice  in  his 
favor. 

The  real  effect  of  her  mother's  ill-tempered  words 
was  to  open  her  eyes  to  possibilities  which  until 
then  had  not  occurred  to  her,  but  which,  being 
revealed,  were  the  reverse  of  unpleasant.  She  sat  a 
long  time  pondering  on  this  revelation — so  long, 


24  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

indeed,  that  when  she  emerged  from  her  abstract 
tion,  her  head  ached,  but,  she  had  reached  a  conclu 
sion  as  to  what  she  should  do  in  the  event  of  a 
certain  great  big  IF. 

The  next  time  Trescotte  called,  Dorothy  told 
him  she  would  be  his  wife.  But  not,  of  course, 
until  after  he  had  asked. 

He  lingered  at  the  door  a  moment  as  he  was 
taking  his  leave,  on  this  momentous  occasion,  and, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  said : 

"  I  shall  go  at  once  to  your  father.  There  is  a 
certain  episode  in  my  life  of  which  I  must  speak 
before  I  can  take  his  consent.  It  is  not  a  bar,  only 
an  unpleasant  remembrance.  The  knowledge  shall 
be  yours,  should  I  be  fortunate  enough  to  obtain 
your  father's  approval." 

A  young  man  of  prompt  execution,  he  went 
straightway  to  Mr.  Countenay  and  placed  that 
gentleman  in  a  very  embarrassing  position. 

Mr.  Courtenay  knew  that  his  wife  destined 
Dorothy  for  Waldemar.  In  such  matters  Mr. 
Courtenay  deferred  to  his  wife  as  much  the  easier 
way ;  but  there  was  another  side  to  this  situation. 
He  passed  in  the  world  for  a  man  of  strict  probity 
and  upright  dealing  ;  yet,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  he 
knew  that  he  had  largely  contributed  to  the  diminu 
tion  of  the  property  of  the  elder  Trescotte,  by 
inducing  that  old  gentleman  to  exchange  excellent 
Broadway  property  for  certain  railroad  bonds  which 
had  rapidly  lessened  in  value  until  they  were  worth 
comparatively  nothing,  while  the  real  estate,  in  the 


DOROTHY'S  IDYL.  15 

same  time,  had  more  than  doubled.  At  the  time  of 
the  exchange,  and  indeed  for  some  time  thereafter, 
the  bonds  were  quote'd  at  a  premium.  This  was  a 
fact  not  to  be  denied.  No  one,  much  less  the  elder 
Trescotte,  had  ever  charged  Mr.  Courtenay  with 
having  unloaded  unprofitable  holdings  upon  a 
friend.  It  was  all  ascribed  to  his  good  luck  and  to 
Mr.  Trescotte's  bad  luck  that  the  smash  should 
have  come  when  it  did.  But  the  fact  was,  that  Mr. 
Courtenay  had  possessed  knowledge  of  certain 
events  about  to  occur,  which  in  the  nature  of  things 
would  practically  wipe  out  the  bonds,  and  he  had 
hastened  to  get  rid  of  them  before  the  knowledge 
became  general.  So  when  this  young  Trescotte, 
with  his  charming  manners  and  correct  habits,  came 
to  ask  for  his  daughter  Dorothy,  all  the  objection 
he  could  raise  was  what  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  made — 
Trescotte's  lack  of  wealth,  and  he,  Courtenay,  had 
largely  helped  to  that  lack. 

If  Trescotte  regarded  Dorothy  as  a  possession 
beyond  fine  gold,  as  I  must  confess  I  believe  he  was 
impracticable  enough  to  do;  he  would  have  blessed 
that  exchange  which  took  so  much  wealth  from 
him,  for  having  decided  to  give  his  daughter  to 
Trescotte,  under  an  impulse  of  regret  for  having 
treated  the  elder  Trescotte  so  shabbily,  Mrc  Courte 
nay  put  forth  a  restraining  hand  against  Mrs. 
Courtenay  when  she  was  disposed  to  makr  it  un 
pleasant  for  the  young  people  who  had  become 
engaged  at  the  very  time  she  was  laying  deep  plans, 
to  separate  them. 


16  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Mr.  Courtenay  made  so  light  of  the  episode  Tres- 
cotte  had  spoken  of  that  he  did  not  even  mention 
it  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Courtenay,  on  her  side,  had  her 
compensation,  by  achieving  that  which  is  so  dear  to 
woman  heart — a  grievance,  which  was  tenderly 
nursed,  not  only  by  her,  but  by  her  dear  friends,  the 
matron  mothers,  who  could  afford  to  expend  large 
sympathy,  since  their  own  ewe  lambs  were  safe  from 
the  fascinations  of  this  very  dangerous  young 
man. 

The  engagement  took  up  its  place  in  the 
Courtenay  household,  where  it  was  tolerated  only 
by  all  save  Dorothy,  who,  having  made  it  her  reli 
gion,  worked  herself  into  a  sort  of  exaltation  in  the 
contemplation  that  nothing  sordid  entered  into  her 
romance. 

A  sensation  of  an  extraordinary  character,  how 
ever,  marked  the  course  of  this  romance. 

Two  railroad  companies,  one  nearly  moribund,  a 
goodly  portion  of  the  worthless  stock  and  bonds  of 
which  were  held  by  Trescotte  and  retained  because 
he  could  not  sell  them,  began  a  fight  over  a  tract 
of  land  which  someone  had  discovered  contained 
lead,  or  iron,  or  coal,  or  something  else  equally 
dear  to  the  railroad  heart,  the  title  deeds  of  which, 
curiously  enough,  were  also  held  by  Trescotte,  as 
evidences  of  his  father's  foolish  financial  schemes. 

The  young  man  was  drawn  into  the  very  vortex 
of  the  fight,  from  which,  after  a  laborious  and 
bewildering  period  of  two  months,  he  emerged 
shorn  of  his  stocks  and  bonds  a.nd  title  deeds,  but 


DOROTHY'S  IDYL,  IJ 

with  two  millions  or  more  to  his  credit  in  the  bank, 
awaiting  investment. 

Virtuous  actions  have  their  rewards.  Mr.  Courte- 
nay  was  credited  with  being  a  very  shrewd  old 
fellow  who  had  seen  the  possibility  from  the  first, 
and  Mrs.  Courtenay  found  compensation  in  the 
rapid  change  of  her  dear  matron  mother  friends 
from  self  satisfied  sympathy  to  mortified  envy. 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  an  income  of 
eight  thousand  and  eighty  thousand  a  year,  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  the  prospective  son-in-law, 
who  had  leaped  from  one  to  the  other,  appreciated 
a  sudden  change  in  the  atmosphere  in  ana  about 
the  Courtenay  mansion — it  was  more  balmy  and 
genial.  I  am  compelled  to  admit,  however,  that  I 
saw  traces  of  a  littleness  of  spirit  upon  the  part  of 
Dorothy,  in  that  she  seemed  to  show  regret  over 
this  change  in  the  fortunes  of  her  lover.  I  am  really 
afraid  that  the  notion  crept  into  her  silly,  romantic 
head,  that  a  sweet  something,  akin  to  a  sacrifice, 
had  been  taken  out  of  their  idyl. 

So,  in  due  course  of  time,  they  were  married,  and 
by  the  Bishop,  too,  for  Mrs.  Courtenay  insisted  on 
that,  and  the  world  came  to  the  wedding,  bringing 
those  valuable  presents  it  never  would  have 
brought  to  the  wedding  of  an  eight  thousand  dollar 
man.  The  bride  and  groom  went  on  their  travels, 
and  at  the  end  of  three  months  brought  up  at 
Saratoga,  where  we  found  them  in  the  first  chapter. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WIPED,   NOT  WEDDED. 

MR.  AND  MRS.  TRESCOTTE  breakfasted  late  on 
the  morning  following  the  evening  Dorothy  had 
heard  the  fragment  of  the  sad  story  she  told  her 
husband. 

They  were  hardly  seated  at  the  table  when  Mr. 
Magrane,  the  lawyer  who  had  piloted  Trescotte 
through  the  sea  of  legal  complications  and  finally 
landed  him  in  the  port  of  a  millionaire,  came  to 
them. 

Mr.  Magrane  had  never  met  Mrs.  Trescotte,  and 
so  was  presented  by  her  happy  possessor.  As  he 
told  them  he  was  just  returned  from  the  Pacific 
Coast,  whither  he  had  been  for  six  months  straight 
ening  out  the  troubles  of  the  ownership  of  a  gold 
mine,  he  regarded  Mrs.  Trescotte  with  so  singular, 
and  indeed  curious,  an  interest  that  Dorothy  was 
quite  offended.  And  yet  he  made  a  marked  effort 
to  be  agreeable,  so  apparent  that  she,  keenly  obser 
vant  and  somewhat  suspicious,  concluded  that  there 
was  ulterior  purpose  in  the  effort.  Besides  he 
puzzled  her,  for  though  she  had  not  even  heard  of 
him  before  he  presented  himself,  handsome,  self. 
poised,  polished  in  manner,  there  was  about  him 


WIPED,   NOT    WEDDED.  19 

something  strangely  familiar.  She  could  not  divest 
herself  of  the  fancy  that  this  man,  so  agreeable  and 
debonair,  boded  her  no  good.  It  was  all  very 
absurd  and  unjust,  she  knew.  Her  husband  evi 
dently  respected  and  trusted  the  man.  Their  brief 
conversation  revealed  to  her  that  Mr.  Magrane 
was  the  lawyer  whose  ability  and  honorable  dealing 
in  Trescotte's  rise  to  wealth  she  had  heard  her 
husband  so  highly  praise,  yet  when,  moving  away, 
the  lawyer  requested  half  an  hour's  conversation  with 
her  husband  on  business  after  breakfast,  her  impulse 
was  to  warn  her  husband.  Against  what  ?  That 
was  the  trouble.  She  had  nothing  but  her  intuitions, 
and  she  knew  that  man  laughed  at  the  intuitions 
of  woman.  So  Dorothy  held  her  tongue.  They 
breakfasted  leisurely,  Dorothy  not  a  little  depressed 
and  making  an  effort  to  appear  cheerful  and  happy. 

When  Trescotte  had  taken  her  to  their  apart 
ments  he  went  in  search  of  Magrane.  The  lawyer 
was  found  on  the  veranda  just  outside  the  doors  of 
the  great  office,  his  morning  paper  lying  unread  on 
his  knees,  in  a  brown  study,  oblivious  to  the  whirl 
and  flash  of  the  butterflies  of  fashion  about  him. 

He  arose  promptly  when  Trescotte  spoke  to  him, 
and  rather  nervously  said  : 

"  Let  us  go  into  Congress  Park.  I  want  to  con 
sult  you  on  a  matter  of  great  concern.  We  can  be 
entirely  alone  there." 

They  sauntered  down  Broadway,  chatting  on 
trivial  matters,  and  turned  into  the  Park,  to  a  re 
mote  corner  of  which  Magrane  led  Trescotte. 


20  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

It  was  apparent  that  the  lawyer  was  not  eager  to 
begin  the  consultation  to  which  he  had  invited 
Trescotte.  Indeed,  it  was  with  an  effort  that  he 
began  to  speak : 

"  I  am  in  Saratoga  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
see  you.  Certain  statements  have  been  made  to  me 
that  deeply  concern  you." 

Trescotte  took  out  his  case  and  offered  Magrane  a 
cigar.  The  lawyer  declined  and  his  client,  selecting 
one  for  himself,  wondered  humorously  if  this  were 
a  prelude  to  the  achievement  of  another  million. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions — questions 
you  may  think  impertinent,"  the  lawyer  went  on. 

"  Why,  Magrane,"  replied  Trescotte,  striking  a 
match  and  lighting  his  cigar,  "your  questions  could 
not  be  impertinent.  Our  relations  are  too  close." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  lawyer,  picking  from  the 
ground  a  green  twig,  and  trying  to  tie  it  into  a  knot. 
He  devoted  himself  so  moodily  to  this  occupation, 
that  Trescotte,  expectant,  began  to  feel  bored.  The 
lawyer  broke  out  abruptly : 

"  Trescotte,"  he  said  as  he  threw  the  twig  from 
him,  having  broken  it,  "  you  were  married  to  Miss 
Dorothy  Courtenay  three  months  ago.  Does  she 
know  that  once  before  you  had  gone  through  the 
marriage  ceremony?" 

The  abruptness  of  the  lawyer,  the  unexpected 
question,  and  the  wonder  how  Magrane  obtained 
the  knowledge,  perplexed  and  startled  Trescotte. 
There  was  anger,  both  in  his  eyes  and  tones,  as  he 
replied  : 


WIPED,   NOT    WEDDED.  21 

"You  are  treading  nearer  to  impertinence  than  I 
thought  was  possible,  Magrane." 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  the  lawyer  calmly,  for  since 
he  had  made  the  plunge  lie  so  dreaded  he  was  in 
possession  of  himself,  and  the  lawyer  again,  rather 
than  the  friend.  "  I  ask  the  question  as  your  coun 
sel  and  legal  adviser.  Answer,  please." 

Magrane's  manner  disposed  of  Trescotte's  anger 
summarily : 

"  Yes,"  he  replied;  "and  at  the  very  beginning 
of  our  engagement." 

"  Good  ! "  cried  Magrane  ;  "  that  is  far  better  than 
I  expected." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  getting  at,"  said 
Trescotte,  quite  astonished  at  the  lawyer's  evident 
satisfaction,  "  but  when  I  went  to  her  father  for  his 
consent  to  our  engagement,  I  did  not  receive  it 
until  I  had  told  him  the  story  in  all  its  details.  His 
approval  was  given  after  he  knew  everything  I  had 
to  tell." 

"  Still  better,"  broke  in  Magrane,  rubbing  his 
hands  delightedly ;  "  it  is  in  very  good  shape  for 
you  on  that  side." 

Trescotte  was  yet  more  perplexed  by  the  lawyer's 
manner,  but  he  finished  by  saying  : 

"  Returning  to  Miss  Courtenay  to  inform  her  of 
the  result  of  my  interview  with  her  father,  I  told  her 
the  story  without  reservation." 

"Very,  very  good  !  "  exclaimed  Magrane;  "your 
conduct  was  manly  and  upright.  Now  tell  me  the 
story  of  the  other  affair,  in  all  its  detail,  omitting  no 


22  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

point."  He  hastened  to  add,  "  I  do  not  ask  from 
idle  curiosity.  I  have  a  purpose  as  you  will  soon 
know." 

"  I  am  not  proud  of  the  story,"  said  Trescotte 
with  a  faint  air  of  attempting  to  be  humorous,  "  nor 
happy  in  recalling  it  to  memory.  It  is  a  story  so 
much  more  like  the  inventions  of  cheap  romancers 
than  an  actual  happening  in  real  life,  and  is  such  a 
lameatable  showing  of  my  own  weakness  and  absurd 
youth,  that  I  avoid  putting  it  on  exhibition,  except 
when  necessary.  Were  it  not  supported  by  incon 
trovertible  documentary  evidence,  I  would  not  ex 
pect  people  to  believe  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Magrane  with  fine  profes 
sional  scorn  for  apologies,  "  but  give  me  the  story." 

"  Well,"  Trescotte  went  on,  not  a  little  nettled  by 
the  lawyer's  manner,"  when  I  was  about  twenty-one — 
nine  years  ago — I  was  in  Switzerland  where  I  had 
fallen  in  with  an  American  family  named  Hallock, 
from  Buffalo,  consisting  of  the  father  and  mother, 
son  and  daughter.  We  traveled  together.  The 
daughter,  whose  name  was  Elsie,  and  who  was  a 
very  pretty  little  girl,  was  about  my  own  age,  and 
was  principally  noticeable  for  her  alternation  of 
spirits,  either  deep  depression  or  reckless  gayety. 
The  son  was  some  six  or  seven  years  older.  There 
were  no  love  passages  between  Elsie  and  myself,  nor 
any  attempts  on  either  part.  She  treated  me  as  she 
did  her  brother,  frolicked  with  me  when  gay,  avoided 
me  when  depressed.  I  regarded  her  merely  as  a 
jolly  little  companion  of  vacation  days. 


WIPED,   NOT    WEDDED.  23 

"  In  our  travels  we  reached  a  village  near  which 
was  a  ruin  Mr.  Hallock  thought  worthy  a  visit,  and 
it  was  here  my  troubles  began.  On  the  evening  of 
our  arrival,  Elsie  and  I  sat  upon  a  low  balcony 
under  the  windows  of  the  room  of  the  inn  occupied 
by  our  party  as  a  sitting  room,  Mrs.  Hallock  was 
dozing  within  the  room.  Where  Mr.  Hallock  and 
the  son  were,  I  don't  know.  The  moon  was  shining 
and  the  ruins  were  plainly  visible,  two  miles  away. 
Suddenly,  and  without  a  word  to  suggest  the  caprice, 
Elsie,  who  was  in  one  of  her  moods  of  reckless  gayety, 
climbed  over  the  balcony  railing,  and  let  herself  drop 
to  the  back  of  a  horse,  one  of  two  standing  saddled 
beneath.  As  she  rode  away  laughing,  she  challenged 
me  to  follow  her.  Moved  by  the  same  spirit  of 
recklessness,  I  followed  on  the  other  horse.  I  did 
not  come  up  with  her  until  she  had  reached  the 
ruins.  Here  she  proposed  that  we  should  climb  to 
a  ledge  or  balcony  projecting  from  the  remains  of 
a  battlement,  from  which,  she  said,  she  had  heard  a 
fine  view  could  be  had.  I  fastened  the  horses  to  the 
frail  staircase  by  which  the  ledge  was  reached.  We 
had  not  been  there  long  before  the  horses,  frightened 
at  something,  began  to  rear  and  plunge.  I  hastened 
to  quiet  them,  but  before  I  could  reach  the  stair 
way  the  horses  had  pulled  it  down  and,  freeing 
themselves,  had  galloped  away. 

"  We  were  caught  as  in  a  trap.  The  stairway  was 
the  only  means  of  descent.  At  first  Elsie  thought 
it  was  great  larks.  But  when  repeated  calls  and 
shouts  brought  us  no  help,  and  it  was  plain  that  we 


24  SHOULD    SHE  HATE   LEFT  HIM? 

should  have  to  remain  all  night,  she  began  to  cry 
and  blame  herself  for  the  freak  that  had  brought 
us  into  such  a  predicament.  I  soothed  her  as  best 
I  could.  Finally  she  fell  asleep  with  my  coat  about 
her,  and  my  shoulder  for  a  pillow.  Later  I  fell 
asleep,  and  thus  we  were  found  in  the  early  morning 
by  the  angriest  brother  I  ever  sa\v.  Returning  to 
the  inn,  we  were  loaded  with  reproaches  by  all  the 
family,  and  especially  by  an  insufferably  conceited 
jack — a  cousin  and  a  clergyman  to  boot — who  had, 
as  expected,  joined  the  family  during  the  night,  and 
for  whom,  I  believe,  Elsie  had  been  destined. 

"  If  my  tale  was  believed  it  was  not  heeded, 
though  Elsie  joined  in  asserting  it.  Mr.  Hallock 
insisted  loudly  that  Elsie  was  compromised  beyond 
redemption,  and  the  mother  filled  the  air  with 
lamentations  over  her  poor  ruined  daughter.  The 
brother  declared  that  those  who  had  ruined  his  sister 
must  care  for  her  thereafter  or  deal  with  him. 
Finding  that  the  worst  construction  was  put  upon 
the  affair,  and  losing  my  head  through  my  sympathy 
for  Elsie,  who  I  thought  was  basely  treated,  in  a 
burst  of  chivalric  anger  I  declared  I  would  marry 
her  then  and  there  and  thus  put  an  end  to  the  out 
rageous  treatment  of  the  girl.  My  proposal  was 
eagerly  seized  upon,  though  Elsie  protested  strenu 
ously,  but  wholly  on  my  account.  She  was  silenced, 
however,  and  almost  before  I  was  awrare  of  it  we 
were  made  man  and  wife  by  the  cousin,  who  went 
through  the  ceremony  as  if  he  were  attending  his 
own  funeral." 


WIPED,   NOT    WEDDED.  25 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  were  a  deep-laid  trap  for  you," 
interjected  the  lawyer. 

"  No,"  replied  Trescotte  positively,  "  for  if  it  was, 
Elsie  would  necessarily  have  had  to  have  been  a 
party  to  it,  and  I  am  certain  she  was  not.  But  I  do 
think  now  that  Mr.  Hallock  saw  what  the  opportunity 
afforded  and  took  advantage  of  it.  I  myself,  from 
my  want  of  experience  and  by  reason  of  my  youth, 
set  the  trap.  The  father  and  son  sprang  it.  Some 
question  arising  the  next  day  as  to  the  authority 
of  this  cousin  to  perform  the  ceremony  on  foreign 
soil,  a  civil  marriage  was  had." 

"Ah,  there  was  your  opportunity  to  escape," 
cried  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes,  if  the  question  had  been  raised  at  first, 
but  a  night  had  passed.  Well,  the  details  of  our 
life  for  the  next  five  months  are  unimportant.  If 
we  did  not  hate  each  other  and  quarrel,  at  least 
we  made  no  professions  of  love.  We  were  young, 
accepted  our  singular  position  with  the  light-hearted- 
ness  of  youth,  tried  to  enjoy  life  as  we  found  it,  and 
to  be  agreeable  to  each  other.  What  might  have 
been  the  final  result  of  our  close  association  of  course 
I  cannot  now  tell,  but  when  I  recall  Elsie's  sweet 
disposition  and  many  admirable  qualities,  I  can 
imagine  I  could  have  in  time  grown  very  fond  of 
her.  But  one  morning,  having  joined  the  Hallock 
family  at  Berlin,  a  man  named  Adams — [here  Mr. 
Magrane  showed  increased  interest] — presented  him- 
self,  into  whose  arms  Elsie  rushed  with  a  cry  of  joy. 
Adams  declared,  he  had  co.me  to  take  his  legally 


26  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

wedded  wife.  Then  a  story  was  told  which  had  been 
concealed  from  me.  A  year  previous  Elsie  had  eloped 
from  Buffalo  with  this  man  Adams  and  had  fled 
with  him  to  Cleveland.  Whether  young  Hallock  was 
in  Cleveland  and  had  been  informed  by  telegraph  of 
their  flight  to  that  place,  or  whether  it  was  an  acci 
dent,  I  never  knew,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  when 
they  stepped  off  the  cars  in  that  city  he  was  await 
ing  them,  and  with  police  aid  compelled  Elsie  to 
return  with  him  to  Buffalo.  Both  Adams  and  Elsie 
insisted  that  they  had  been  married  before  leaving 
Buffalo,  but  as  neither  could  produce  proof  nor  cer 
tificate,  and  as  the  time  of  her  leaving  home  in  the 
day  and  their  arrival  in  the  evening  at  Cleveland 
would  indicate  they  barely  had  time  to  catch  the 
train  they  arrived  upon,  young  Hallock  refused  to 
believe  their  story.  Looking  upon  the  whole  affair 
as  something  from  which  Elsie  had  been  rescued  in 
time  to  save  her  reputation,  the  family  had  hastened 
to  Europe  with  Elsie  to  remove  her  from  Adams' 
influence.  But  now  he  presented  the  indubitable 
proofs  of  marriage. 

"  Whatever  there  was  of  dilemma,  and  to  the  great 
disgust  of  the  Hallock  family,  I  promptly  disposed 
of  by  asserting  my  satisfaction  with  the  prior  claims 
of  Mr.  Adams  and  by  insisting  that  the  previous 
marriage  made  mine  invalid.  It  was  plain  to  see 
where  Elsie's  heart  was.  If  Adams  was  willing  to 
take  her  after  due  explanation,  and  in  knowledge,  I, 
who  had  never  pretended  to  a  passion  for  the  girl, 
was  satisfied  that  she  should  go  to  him.  I  had  sense 


WIPED,    NOT    WEDDED.  2 7 

enough  to  compel  all,  including  Elsie  and  Adams, 
to  make  written  statements,  duly  sworn  to,  setting 
forth  the  exact  facts.  It  was  about  the  only  sensi 
ble  thing  I  did  in  the  whole  miserable  affair." 

"  I  have  just  spent  six  months  with  Adams.  His 
story  agrees  with  yours  in  all  essential  particulars." 

This  was  the  only  comment  Mr.  Magrane  made 
on  Trescotte's  story. 

After  a  period  of  silence,  during  which  Trescotte 
waited  for  him,  he  spoke.  "  Adams  consulted  me 
as  to  his  own  position  in  the  matter  three  days  ago. 
A  new  phase  of  this  tangle  was  made  known  to  him 
less  than  a  year  ago.  A  more  complicated  case 
never  came  under  my  review.  I  can  reach  no  other 
conclusion  than  that  Adams  never  was  married  to 
Miss  Hallock." 

"Ah!" 

Trescotte  was  surprised,  and  looked  to  Magrane 
to  continue.  The  lawyer  returned  the  look  without 
speaking  until  the  silence  became  embarrassing  to 
both.  It  was  the  lawyer  who  broke  it. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  weight  of 
that  remark." 

"  I  certainly  do,"  returned  Trescotte,  brushing  the 
ashes  from  his  cigar.  "  It  is  very  hard  upon  Mrs. — 
Miss — well,  Elsie.  I  sympathize  with  her  deeply. 
If  weak  and  deficient  in  judgment,  I  think  she  was  a 
well-meaning  girl,  and  she  certainly  loved  Adams. 
It  is  hard  for  her  to  find  at  the  end  of  all  these 
years,  though  wedded  she  is  not  a  wife." 

"  But  she  is  a  wife,"  persisted  Magrane, 


28  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMt 

Puzzled  by  the  lawyer's  apparent  contradiction, 
Trescotte  turned  inquiring  eyes  upon  him. 

"  She  is  " — Magrane  hesitated  to  inflict  the  blow — 
"  your  wife." 

The  blood  left  Trescotte's  face  so  quickly  that 
Magrane  thought  for  a  moment  he  would  topple 
over,  but  Trescotte  cried  out  fiercely : 

"And  Dorothy?" 

Mr.  Magrane  turned  from  him  with  a  hopeless 
gesture. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  GIRL    BECOMES  A  WOMAN, 

MR.  MAGRANE'S  gesture  was  eloquent. 

Trescotte  asked  no  further  questions,  but  sat  up 
right  and  rigid,  his  face  expressionless. 

The  silence  was  so  long  that  Mr.  Magrane  felt  he 
must  do  or  say  something  to  relieve  the  strain. 
Mental  suffering  he  had  often  witnessed ;  it  was 
incidental  to  the  practice  of  his  profession.  Within 
the  year  he  had  assisted  in  the  unmasking  of  one  of 
his  own  profession — a  man  of  the  highest  social 
standing,  whose  punishment  was  more  in  the  dis 
grace  of  exposure  than  in  the  sentence  of  imprison 
ment.  In  all  these  cases  exposure  had  been  antici 
pated  and  there  was  a  sort  of  preparation  for  it. 
But  in  the  case  of  Trescotte,  revelation  had  come 
without  even  the  suspicion  of  its  possible  occur 
rence. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said  trying  to  assume  an  advisory 
tone,  "  in  view  of  all  the  circumstances,  the  charge 
of  bigamy  against  you  cannot  be  maintained." 

A  faint  gesture  from  Trescotte  warned  the  lawyer 
that  he  was  on  the  wrong  tack ;  that  Trescotte 
gave  no  thought  to  himself,  but  to  the  deplorable — 
the  dreadful  position  of  Dorothy. 


30  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIMt 

The  recognition  of  this  and  the  mockery  of  sym 
pathy  silenced  Mr.  Magrane.  Yet  he  felt  that  the 
man  who  sat  so  rigid  and  motionless  must  be 
stirred  into  action,  so  he  finally  determined  to  tell 
Trescotte  the  story  as  told  him  by  Adams,  believing 
that  it  must  quicken  the  stricken  man  into  thought. 
He  began,  but  apparently  without  securing  Tres- 
cotte's  attention. 

From  this  recital  it  appeared  that  Adams,  less 
than  a  year  previous,  had  learned  that  the  civil 
magistrate  who  had  married  Elsie  Hallock  and 
himself,  on  the  morning  of  their  elopement,  had  been 
removed  from  office  for  misdeeds  the  day  previous, 
and  therefore  had  no  authority  to  perform  the 
function.  Whether  he  was  aware  of  it  at  the  time 
did  not  appear,  but  a  somewhat  languid  conscience 
had,  after  the  lapse  of  eight  years,  moved  him  to  go 
to  Adams  and  tell  him  the  truth.  Magrane  was 
disposed  to  believe  that  it  was  less  a  matter  of  con 
science  than  a  belief,  on  hearing  that  Adams  and 
Elsie  were  separated,  that  his  information  would 
have  value  to  Adams  and  consequently  money  value 
to  himself.  The  separation  was  a  fact.  Though 
Adams  had  condoned  the  five  months  Elsie  had 
lived  with  Trescotte,  when  Elsie's  first  born  came 
into  the  world,  and  its  paternity  in  the  nature  of 
things  must  be  ascribed  to  Trescotte,  those  five 
months  rose  up  between  Elsie  and  Adams  to  the 
destruction  of  their  domestic  peace.  When  Adams 
and  her  father,  who  had  in  time  become  reconciled 
to  his  son-in-law,  quarreled  over  a  joint  investment, 


A   GIRL  BECOMES  A    WOMAN,  31 

the  final  result  of  the  quarrel  was  that  Elsie  left 
Adams  and  went  to  her  father's  house  and  care. 
There  had  been  other  children  born  to  Elsie,  and 
tonsiderable  property  had  accumulated,  in  the 
administration  of  which  there  had  been  some  diffi 
culty  and  embarrassment  so  long  as  Elsie  was 
under  her  father's  influence.  Adams  had  brooded 
nearly  a  year  over  this  discovery  of  his  invalid 
marriage,  confiding  in  no  one,  until  being  thrown 
into  close  relations  with  Magrane,  and  gaining  con 
fidence  in  the  lawyer,  he  had  taken  counsel  of  him. 
Thus  it  was  that  the  lawyer  had  learned  of  Tres- 
cotte's  plight  and  of  the  invalidity  of  the  marriage 
just  contracted. 

The  lawyer's  story  had  the  intended  effect. 

"  My — Dorothy  must  be  told,"  said  Trescotte. 

"  She  must  not  be  kept  in  ignorance,"  emphati 
cally  declared  Magrane.  "  It  is  your  duty  to  tell 
her,  and  at  once." 

"  I  can't,  I  can't !  God  help  me,  I  can't !  You 
will  tell  her." 

There  was  such  pathos  in  Trescotte's  pleading, 
that  Magrane,  who  had  not  contemplated  such  a 
duty,  and  shrank  from  it  when  suggested,  at  last 
consented^ 

"  If  it  is  to  be  done,"  he  said  rising  briskly,  "  it 
should  be  done  at  once." 

He  waited  for  Trescotte  to  join  him,  but  the  poof 
fellow  was  loath  to  go. 

"  I  know,"  said  Magrane  sympathetically,  "  what 
a  blow  this  is  to  you.  I  would  have  averted  it  if  I 


32  SHOULD  SffE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

could,  but  having  learned  it  there  was  no  other 
course  open  to  me.  You  must  see  it  in  that 
light." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  replied  Trescotte,  putting  out  his 
hand  and  taking  that  of  Magrane's  warmly.  "  But 
Dorothy  !  " 

"  It  will  be  very  wrong  not  to  reveal  it  to  her. 
She  must  know." 

Trescotte  yielded,  leading  the  way  to  the  hotel  at 
which  they  were  stopping. 

,As  they  entered  Mrs.  Trescotte's  apartments,  a 
glance  at  her  husband's  face  was  sufficient  to  tell 
Dorothy  that  her  forebodings  were  realized.  What 
had  occurred  ?  With  a  cry  of  alarm  she  swept 
across  the  room  to  Trescotte,  who  put  out  to  her  a 
trembling  arm  and  averted  his  face. 

She  turned  to  Magrane  fiercely. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?"  she  demanded. 

"I?" 

It  seemed  to  him  that  Dorothy  charged  all  of 
Trescotte's  distress  to  him,  and  he  resented  it  as  an 
injustice.  Before  he  could  say  more,  Trescotte 
spoke,  his  voice  weak  and  unsteady. 

"  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Magrane  has  some 
thing  to  tell  you.  It  is  I  who  should  do  it,  but 
I  have  neither  the  courage  nor  the  power.  Mr. 
Magrane  has  mercifully  consented  to  do  it  for  me." 

Dorothy  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  deeply 
impressed  and  much  frightened. 

Trescotte  led  her  across  the  room,  seating  her  in 
a  low  chair.  Bringing  another  into  close  relation 


A   GIRL  BECOMES  A    WOMAN.  33 

he  motioned  to  Magrane  to  occupy  it,  and  without 
further  word  went  out  of  the  room. 

Magrane  did  not  find  it  easy  to  begin  his  revela 
tion.  When  he  did,  a  fine  instinct  warned  him  to 
tell  the  tale  baldly,  fact  for  fact,  without  sympathy 
for  the  woman  before  him. 

He  had  a  listener  who  was  breathless  in  her  atten 
tion,  who  followed  the  development  step  by  step 
with  burning  eyes,  who  made  no  comments,  who 
asked  no  questions,  who  showed  no  traces  of 
emotion,  except  in  her  rapid  transitions  of  expres 
sion,  and  these,  skillful  as  he  was,  Magrane  could 
not  interpret. 

When  he  had  finished  Dorothy  asked  almost 
sternly  in  her  intensity  : 

"  Have  you  told  me  all  ?  " 

"  Everything !     Without  reservation." 

"  And  you  believe  Harry — my  husband  to  be 
without  blame  ?  " 

"  Entirely  so." 

His  answer  seemed  to  give  Dorothy  such  satis 
faction  that  the  idea  crept  into  Magrane's  mind 
that  apprehension  for  Trescotte  had  been  her  only 
concern,  and  that  she  did  not  realize  her  own 
position. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  knees 
and  her  head  bent  in  deep  thought,  so  profound  as 
to  seem  to  be  oblivious  of  the  lawyer's  presence. 

Magrane  studied  her.  He  noted  the  symmetrical 
head,  the  waving  brown  hair  with  its  reddish  tinge, 
the  beautiful,  delicate  lines  of  her  profile,  the  firm 


34  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

yet  passionate  turn  of  her  red  lips,  the  perfect  com 
plexion,  now  paler  than  usual,  the  quivering  nostrils, 
and  the  beautiful  brown  eyes.  Those  eyes  baffled 
him — deep  in  color  and  rapid  in  play,  but  inscrut 
able  in  their  expression.  He,  who  prided  himself 
on  reading  the  human  face  as  an  open  book,  con 
fessed  himself  at  fault.  All  he  could  determine 
was,  that  it  was  the  face  of  a  soul  that  could  love 
deeply  and  passionately.  Her  thoughts  he  could 
not  read,  nor  analyze  the  emotions  by  which  she 
was  swayed.  He  could  see,  however,  that  she,  who 
was  facing  a  ruined  life,  was  under  marvelous  control. 

He  thought,  as  he  studied  her,  that  she  was  the 
stronger  of  the  two,  and  in  this,  her  trial,  would 
follow  the  dictates  of  her  own  conscience,  and  not 
be  swayed  from  them. 

Dorothy  at  length  roused  herself  and  asked : 

"  Where  is  my  husband?" 

There  was  aggressiveness  in  the  emphasis  she 
gave  to  the  pronoun,  and  the  thought  again 
occurred  to  Magrane  that  she  did  not  realize  her 
position,  so  he  said  : 

"  The  situation  is  a  grave  one  ;  the  complications 
are  the  most  singular  of  any  case  I  have  ever  had 
under  review," — the  phrase  was  a  favorite  one  with 
him — "and  the  injuries  fall  most  heavily  upon  those 
least  able  to  bear  them,  that  is  in  the  view  of  the 
world." 

"  Yes,"  Dorothy  replied  simply. 

Magrane  thought  he  was  not  understood  yet,  so 
he  continued: 


A    GIRL  BECOMES  A    WOMAN.  35 

"  I  mean  the  two  women  involved — yourself  and 
Mrs.  Adams." 

He  hesitated  over  the  name  to  apply  to  the 
other  woman. 

Dorothy  looked  up  sharply,  and  replied : 

"  Yes,  for  Mrs.  Adams,  separated  from  her  hus 
band  and  with  her  children." 

Magrane  began  to  doubt  his  powers  of  expres 
sion  when  he  found  he  had  signally  failed  to  make 
clear  that  the  woman  who  for  eight  years  or  more 
had  lived  with  Adams  as  his  wife  was  not  Mrs. 
Adams,  but  Mrs.  Trescotte.  Yet  he  shrank  from 
delivering  the  direct  blow  that  would  awaken 
Dorothy  to  the  fact  he  wanted  her  to  comprehend. 
He  sought  another  method. 

"My  statement  of  fact  is  ended,"  he  said.  "To 
advise  is  my  profession.  Though  I  am  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte's  counsel,  yet  I  can  serve  you  in  the  same 
capacity." 

The  look  Dorothy  gave  him  was  swift  and 
searching. 

"  Ah  ?  "  Her  ejaculation  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  him. 

"  I  presume  you  will  return  to-day  to  your  father. 
Command  me  in  any  way  you  may  desire." 

"  Return  to  my  father  ?  " 

She  repeated  the  words  slowly,  with  a  wondering 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Magrane,  "  you  see,  you  are  not 
now  legally  the  wife  of  Mr.  Trescotte." 

Tne   first   expression  of   pain  he   had  yet  noted 


5&  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

swept  over  her  face  so  deep  and  poignant,  that  he 
regretted  he  had  used  so  little  delicacy  in  forcing 
her  position  to  her  attention, 

At  this  moment  Trescotte,  who  without  comfort 
had  been  pacing  the  long  corridor,  entered  the  room. 
Dorothy  sprang  from  her  seat,  crossed  rapidly  to 
him,  and  laying  both  her  hands  upon  his,  looked 
up  into  his  face,  asking : 

"  Hairy,  is  it  your  wish  to  be  rid  of  me  ?  " 

It  flashed  across  the  suspicious  lawyer  mind  of 
Magrane  that  she  thought  she  was  the  victim  of 
an  intrigue. 

Such  was  not  the  thought  of  Trescotte.  He  saw 
what  the  lawyer  did  not  see  :  lifted  brown  eyes 
shining  with  love  of  him.  Though  Magrane  was  there, 
though  Dorothy  was  not  his  wife,  though  he  had  no 
rights,  he  embraced  her  passionately  as  he  murmured: 

"Wish?  The  mere  thought  of  separation  has 
broken  my  heart !  " 

Dorothy  freed  herself  sufficiently  to  turn  a 
triumphant  face  to  Magrane. 

Why  should  the  lawyer  have  accepted  that 
triumphant  look  as  a  challenge?  Yet  he  did,  for 
going  to  Trescotte,  he  said : 

"  I  ask  that  you  leave  me  for  a  moment  or  two 
with— this  lady  ?  " 

Dorothy  did  not  fail  to  note  that  the  lawyer  had 
avoided  speaking  of  her  as  Trescotte's  wife,  and  she 
resented  it, 'as  was  plainly  seen  by  the  flash  of  her 
eyes.  She  faced  Magrane,  as  for  battle,  as  Tres 
cotte  passed  into  the  adjoining  room. 


A    GIRL   BECOMES  A    WOMAN.  37 

"  I  conceive  it  to  be  my  duty,"  began  Magrane 
sternly,  "  a  duty  I  owe  Mr.  Trescotte,  you,  per 
haps  society,  to  point  out  plainly  to  you  your 
position." 

Dorothy  slightly  inclined  her  head,  but  whether 
she  intended  it  as  permission  to  proceed,  or  whether 
in  token  of  her  understanding  of  his  meaning,  he 
could  not  determine,  but  he  did  not  fail  to  perceive 
in  her  manner  something  which  made  him  wish  he 
had  not  taken  so  superior  a  tone  with  her. 

"  I  have  the  profoundest  sympathy  for  you,"  he 
went  on  to  say,  with  more  deference.  "  Your  situ 
ation  is  not  only  distressing,  but  so  far  as  I  am 
informed,  without  parallel.  Mr.  Trescotte  told  you 
and  your  father  of  his  former  relation  before  he 
entered  into  engagement  with  you.  He  told  you 
then  what  he  and  everybody  party  to  the  affair 
believed  to  be  the  truth.  His  conduct " 

"  It  is  needless  to  discuss  Mn  Trescotte's  part  in 
this  affair,"  she  interrupted  to  say.  "  His  conduct  is 
blameless.  Please  confine  yourself  to  my  position." 

Magrane  felt  that  her  antagonistic  attitude  was 
due  to  his  own  manner,  but  he  went  on  stolidly 
determined : 

"  I  address  myself  to  that,"  he  said  with  a  bow. 
"  The  marriage  between  Miss  Elsie  Hallock  and  Mr, 
Adams  being  invalid,  of  necessity  the  subsequent 
marriage  of  Miss  Hallock  to  Mr.  Trescotte,  being 
duly  performed,  is  valid." 

Dorothy  winced,  but  continued  to  look  him 
steadily  in  the  eyes. 


38  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"And  consequently,  the  ceremony  of  your  mar 
riage  to  Mr.  Trescotte  is  invalid — as  if  it  had  not 
taken  place.  You  have  no  right  to  the  name  of 
Trescotte." 

"  That  is  the  view  of  the  law?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

"  Of  the  law,"  he  acquiesced  ;  "  and,  as  you  will 
find,  of  society,  using  that  term  as  you  best  know 
it." 

Society!  The  word  summoned  up  the  vision  of 
her  mother. 

"That  being  the  case,"  continued  Magrane,  "  you 
are  not  the  wife  of  Henry  Trescotte,  and  cannot 
remain  with  him,  without  serious  results  to  your 
own  reputation — without  loss  of  your  own  place  in 
society." 

Dorothy  did  not  seem  to  be  as  much  affected  by 
this  statement  as  Magrane  had  expected. 

"  Is  it  not  lost  already?"  she  asked. 

Somewhat  startled  out  of  his  self-complacency  on 
finding  how  well  she  realized  her  position,  the 
lawyer  hesitated  before  replying. 

"It  certainly  has  been  changed." 

"  Lost !  "  she  said  imperatively.  "  Is  it  not  ?  You 
say  you  speak  of  my  position.  Be  frank.  Society 
— the  world  in  which  I  have  always  moved — is  cruel 
to  women.  It  forgives  mistakes  before  it  does 
misfortunes.  Though  I  am  blameless — will  the 
world  accept  me  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Magrane  evasively,  "  your  world 
will  sympathize  with  you." 

"  How  ?     By  regarding  me  as  tainted— by  closing 


A   GIRL  BECOMES  A    WOMAN.  39 

its  doors  against  me.  Why  ?  Because  I  have  been 
unfortunate,  though  I  am  neither  wrong  nor  vicious. 
To  my  world  there  is  no  difference  between  myself, 
the  victim  of  a  misfortune,  and  the  young  girl  who 
has  weakly  and  basely  yielded  to  the  tempter,  the 
victim  of  her  own  passions.  That  is  my  position." 

This  young  girl,  barely  twenty,  puzzled  the  astute 
lawyer.  Had  he  not  been  a  witness  of  that  brief 
scene  with  Trescotte  he  would  have  declared  that 
she  was  a  glittering  block  of  ice  ;  therefore  he  con 
cluded  it  was  an  exhibition  of  marvelous  self-con 
trol,  so  calm  and  emotionless  did  she  seem  to  be. 
It  never  occurred  to  this  astute  man  of  the  world 
that  he  was  a  witness  of  the  processes  of  an  evolu 
tion.  Before  he  could  reply  she  went  on : 

"  There  are  things  which  with  all  your  wisdom  you 
cannot  comprehend — things  only  a  woman  can,  and 
I  cannot  tell  you.  But  there  is  something  dearer  to 
a  woman,  whether  the  Church  has  pronounced  its 
sacrament  over  her  or  not,  than  reputation  or  life, 
and  if  this  is  struck  at,  she  will  resent  it  with  all  the 
power  she  has.  At  this,  my  world  strikes  madly, 
and  it  will  strike  at  mine  when  it  is  mine.  You 
instruct  me  as  to  my  position  ?  You  have  not  the 
slightest  comprehension  of  it." 

There  was  no  doubt  as  to  her  emotion  now.  He 
did  not  understand  her  meaning,  but  he  felt  her 
withering  contempt. 

"  I  meant  to  advise,"  he  replied  rather  humbly,  to 
his  own  annoyance,  "  your  immediate  return  to 
your  father.  It  is  a  duty  you  owe  to  yourself." 


4«  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMt 

"  A  duty ;  yes," — she  was  calm  and  emotionless 
again.  "  I  know  my  position ;  now,  I  must  learn 
my  duty." 

"You  should  not  permit  your  affection  for  Mr. 
Trescotte  to  cloud  your  judgment,"  he  went  on,  re 
gaining  self-confidence. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  must  not  permit  my  judg 
ment  to  be  clouded." 

Her  manner  irritated  him,  and  he  continued  with 
asperity  in  his  tones. 

"  Nor  should  you  permit  the  affection  of  Mr. 
Trescotte  to  influence  you  to  any  other  course." 

"  Mr.  Trescotte  would  not  advise  me  to  other 
than  the  right  course."  Her  words  were  sharp  and 
decisive. 

"  Then,"  he  said  with  a  bow,  feeling  strongly  that 
if  there  had  been  a  battle,  the  trophies  of  victory 
were  not  his,  "when  I  have  pointed  out  that  you 
cannot  remain  under  the  same  roof  with  Mr.  Tres 
cotte  to-night,  though  you  occupy  different  apart 
ments,  without  incurring  censure,  my  advice  is 
done." 

Dorothy,  bowing  to  the  lawyer,  went  to  the  bed 
room  door  and  said  : 

"  Harry,  Mr.  Magrane  is  going." 

Trescotte  entered  in  time  to  hear  Dorothy 
say: 

"  Mr.  Trescotte  and  myself,  together,  will  deter 
mine  our  respective  duties." 

"  You  will  see  Mr.  Courtenay  on  your  return  and 
tell  him  ?  "  asked  Trescotte  anxiously. 


A   GIRL  BECOMES  A    WOMAN.  41 

"Yes,"  replied  Magrane  ;  "  to-night,  when  I  hope 
and  expect  to  know  his  daughter  has  returned  to 
him." 

He  cast  a  significant  glance  at  Dorothy. 

As  he   left  the  room,  Trescotte  turned  wonder 
ingly  to  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  V. 

EVOLUTION. 

FROM  the  moment  Magrane  had  revealed  to  him 
the  complication  in  which  he  and  Dorothy  were 
involved,  Trescotte's  first  thought  had  been  for  her. 
His  own  position  he  did  not  think  of,  not  even  of 
the  distress  and  deep  grief  their  separation  would 
entail.  That  such  separation  would  be  the  inevita 
ble  and  immediate  result  of  the  revelation  to 
Dorothy,  he  was  certain.  This  conclusion  was  not 
so  much  the  result  of  his  estimate  of  Dorothy's 
character  as  it  was  of  his  own  training  and 
education,  and  his  instant  recognition  of  the 
influences  of  education,  training,  and  association 
upon  all  girls  of  Dorothy's  ilk  and  rank  in  the  social 
world.  It  is  true  that  Trescotte  had  no  fixed  ideas 
upon  the  subject ;  that  he  had  never  given  thought 
to  questions  of  relations  of  the  sexes.  So,  when 
this  social  problem  was  suddenly  presented  to  him, 
in  which  he  was  a  factor  himself,  he  took  the  views 
already  made  for  him  and  applied  them  to  its  solu 
tion,  so  far  as  they  would  go.  Dorothy  was  not  his 
wife  ;  girls  in  the  walk  of  life  of  Dorothy  do  not 
live  with  men  who  are  not  their  husbands  ;  there- 
fore,  Dorothy  would  not  continue  to  live  with  him. 


EVOLUTION;  43 

It  was  simple  and  fundamental  logic.  Simulta 
neously  with  the  appreciation  of  the  horrible  fact 
that  Dorothy  was  not  his  wife,  was  the  conclusion 
that  she  would  immediately  depart  from  him,  and 
that  in  honor  he  could  not  raise  a  hand  to  stay  her. 

Such  further  thought  as  he  was  capable  of  in  his 
distraught  condition,  was  given  to  Dorothy's  dread 
ful  position — her  life  ruined  by  means  of  which  he 
was  the  instrument.  And  what  was  maddening,  he 
could  see  no  way  out,  nothing  that  could  be  done 
for  her.  He  was  not  deficient  in  either  physical  or 
moral  courage,  but  he  shrank  from  being  a  witness 
of  the  anguish  Dorothy  would  naturally  exhibit 
when  she  learned  what  her  position  in  the  world 
was.  That  was  the  reason  why  he  had  asked 
Magrane  to  tell  her.  Had  he  loved  her  less,  he 
could  have  told  her  himself.  He  thought,  too,  and 
he  did  not  shrink  from  it,  that  in  her  first  grief  she 
would  reproach  him,  nor  would  he  blame  her  if  she 
did.  He  knew  Dorothy  well  enough  to  know  that, 
after  the  first  wild  burst,  she  would  do  him  the 
justice  of  admitting  that  what  he  had  done  was 
done  in  ignorant  innocence. 

When,  then,  after  the  door  closed  upon  Mr. 
Magrane,  Dorothy  came  to  him  without  words  of 
reproach,  with  sober  yet  pitying  face,  and  laid  her 
hands  upon  his  arm,  looking  up  into  his  eyes,  he  was 
bewildered.  He  thought  Magrane  had  failed  to  do 
as  he  had  promised. 

"  You  have  heard  the  whole  of  the  dreadful 
story?"  he  asked. 


44      SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIMt 

"The  whole  of  the  dreadful  story,"  she  replied. 

"  And  you  know  what  it  all  means  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  it  all  means  to  me." 

There  was  no  flinching  in  her  looks  or  demeanor. 

"  You  have  no  words  of  blame  or  censure  for 
me?" 

"  None ;  except  that  you  sent  Mr.  Magrane  to  tell 
me  the  story  instead  of  coming  yourself." 

This  was  so  different  from  what  he  had  made  sure 
he  would  meet  that  he  was  confused.  He  passed 
his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  he  would  brush  away 
the  mists  that  seemed  to  obscure  his  senses. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  as  she  took  his  hand  and  led 
him  to  the  chair  she  had  occupied  when  listening  to 
Magrane,  gently  urging  him  into  it.  Then  bringing 
a  low  stool,  which  she  placed  at  his  feet,  she  seated 
herself  on  it,  leaning  her  arms  upon  his  knees. 
Looking  up  into  his  eyes,  as  if  she  would  search  the 
innermost  recesses  of  his  mind,  she  said  : 

"  In  this  dreadful  crisis  of  our  lives,  you  and  I 
must  find  out  what  our  duty  is — our  duty  to  each 
other,  to  ourselves." 

He  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon  her  head  and 
gently  stroked  her  soft  silken  hair. 

"  I  have  ruined  your  life,"  was  the  reply  he  made. 

"  No,"  she  said  soberly  and  quietly ;  "  it  is  for 
you  to  decide  now  whether  you  will  ruin  it  or  not." 

Her  manner  was  so  calm,  her  mood  so  quiet,  and 
she  was  in  such  possession  of  herself,  that,  failing  to 
comprehend  her,  Trescotte's  confusion  was  increased 
rather  than  lessened. 


EVOLUTION.  45 

Unconsciously  he  expressed  a  thought  aloud. 

"  It  has  worked  a  great  change  in  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  almost  without  emotion,  "  a 
great  change.  I  am  a  woman  now ;  not  the  girl 
you  parted  from  after  breakfast." 

Trescotte's  despair  and  distress  was  pictured  on 
his  face.  She  took  his  hand  in  her  own  and  intui 
tively  reading  his  mind,  said  : 

"  It  is  your  thought  of  me  that  is  distressing  you 
— of  my  future,  my  position  in  the  world,  of  what 
people  will  think  of  me,  of  what  I  fear  they  will 
think  of  me.  Have  you  no  thought  of  yourself?  " 

"Myself?"  There  was  contempt  in  his  tone. 
"What  of  myself?  What  is  there,  except  the  loss 
of  your  love  and  of  your  life  to  mine,  I  cannot  easily 
brush  aside  ?  " 

Dorothy  pressed  the  hand  she  was  stroking. 

"  I  do  not  reproach  you." 

"  No.  Were  you  to  show  emotion,  I  would  be 
relieved.  It  is  your  calmness  that  distresses  me. 
As  you  are  not  wanting  in  emotion,  it  must  be  the 
calmness  of  despair." 

"  You  are  much  mistaken,"  she  replied  firmly. 
"  I  do  not  despair.  Long  before  Mr.  Magrane  had 
finished  the  story,  I  had  appreciated  it  in  all  its 
relations,  had  thought  it  all  out,  and  determined 
upon  my  duty." 

Trescotte  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  which  you  could  be  blamed. 
Could  you  have  anticipated  this;  had  you  had 
knowledge  which  you  concealed ;  had  you  even 


4$  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIMt 

a  suspicion  of  these  troubles,  and  wooed  and  won  me, 
the  case  would  have  been  different — very  different. 
So,"  she  continued,  with  a  charming  air  of  enforcing 
a  logical  proposition,  "  if  you  were  not  to  blame  in 
coming  to  me,  you  are  not  to  blame  for  the  situa 
tion  in  which  we  find  ourselves.  You  say  you  have 
ruined  my  life.  Whether  you  have  or  not  belongs 
to  another  part  of  our  talk,  and  will  be  answered 
when  we  have  finished." 

Distraught  as  he  was,  Trescotte  did  not  fail  to 
note,  now  that  the  deeper  powers  of  her  mind 
were  called  into  play,  how  orderly  and  methodical 
were  Dorothy's  thoughts. 

"  But,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "  assume  for  a 
moment  that  ruin  has  come  to  me,  no  one  is  to 
blame  for  it.  It  was  an  accident — just  as  the  loss 
of  our  property  or  of  our  sight  would  be." 

"You  are  very  generous,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  replied  promptly ;  "  it  is  not  gen- 
erosity,  it  is  only  justice,  and  no  more  than  the  law 
of  the  land  would  mete  out  to  you.  That  is  what 
Mr.  Magrane  says.  And  you  say  that  it  is  only 
important  to  you  as  it  takes  me  out  of  your  life. 
So  we  can  dismiss  you  from  our  talk." 

"  Then  it  all  comes  back  to  you — your  future— 
your  ruined  life!"  he  cried. 

"  Yes ;  it  all  comes  back  to  me,"  she  looked  up 
into  his  face,  smiling  adorably.  "  I  am  ready  to 
talk  of  my  position.  The  first  thing  is,  what  is 
your  duty  to  me." 

"  My  first  duty  to  you  ?  "  he  repeated,  somewhat 


EVOLUTION.  47 

bewildered  and  taking  refuge  in  a  commonplace. 
"  It  is  to  see  that  you  are  shielded  from  misappre 
hension  as  to  our  relations." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  flitted  over  Dorothy's 
face.  It  was  not  the  answer  she  desired.  Trescotte 
noted  it,  without  understanding  it. 

"And  what  else?"  she  demanded  with  a  sugges 
tion  of  that  imperative  manner  which  he  had  found 
so  charming  in  the  days  of  their  courtship. 

"  And  to  secure  your  happiness,"  he  answered. 

"That  is  better.  And  how  is  that  to  be 
secured  ?  " 

Trescotte  was  not  so  ready  with  the  reply.  It 
was  so  easy  to  say  what  should  be  done,  and  so 
hard  to  suggest  the  means.  She  waited  for  a  reply. 

"Well,"  he  said  after  a  little  thought,  "your 
position  is,  that  you  have  lived  with  me  as  my 
wife,  though  not  wedded.  You  entered  the 
relation  under  the  sanction  of  law  and  church. 
The  world  knows  that.  Therefore  up  to  this 
time,  it  cannot  blame  you.  But  now  you  have 
knowledge  that  I  was  not  free  to  marry  you — that 
you  could  not  enter  into  the  relation  of  wife  to  me. 
Therefore,  every  moment  spent  with  me  after  that 
knowledge  will  lay  you  open  to  censure — to  the 
world's  condemnation." 

"  In  short,"  she  said,  forcing  the  conclusion  he 
avoided  in  terms,  "  up  to  the  present  moment  I  am 
an  honest  woman,  but  if  I  spend  another  night  with 
you  I  will  be  a  woman  with  a  lost  reputation." 

Trescotte  turned   his  head  away  in  deep  pain, 


48  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT 

Such  was  the  dreadful  truth — and  none  the  les<. 
dreadful  because  she  looked  it  in  the  face  so 
bravely. 

Dorothy  pulled  his  face  to  her  gently,  as  she 
asked  :  "  And  your  conclusion  is  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  conclusion,"  he  said  hopelessly. 
"  We  must  separate.  You  must  gain  an  there  is  to 
be  gained,  by  instant  separation." 

"What  then?" 

"  Our  intercourse  must  end,  so  that  the  world 
shall  have  no  opportunity  to  censure," 

"Will  that  secure  my  happiness?" 

This  time  Trescotte  did  not  reply  so  promptly. 
Happiness  to  either  seemed  so  far  away.  "  It  is 
perhaps  a  step  in  that  direction,"  he  replied. 

Dorothy  averted  her  head,  slightly  bending  it  in 
thought,  the  while,  however,  she  gently  stroked  his 
hand.  Trescotte  did  not  disturb  her,  but  gave  him- 
self  up  to  the  thought  of  how  hard  it  was  to  leave 
her,  and  that  nothing  but  an  ardent  desire  for  her 
well  being  could  make  him  consent  to  a  moment's 
separation. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head  and  shot  a  question 
at  him  that  seemed  almost  an  echo  of  his  own 
thought:  "Does  your  heart  indicate  this  course?" 

"  My  heart  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  deeply  pained.  "  Oh, 
how  can  such  a  thought  be  suggested  to  you  ?  No, 
no ;  not  my  heart.  It  is  the  coldest  judgment  I 
can  summon." 

Her  eyes  lighted  up  with  pleasure. 

"  And  what  would  separation  do  for  me  ?" 


EVOLUTION  49 

Trescotte  hesitated  in  his  reply,  looking  very 
hopeless. 

"  You  know,"  she  added,  "  all  this  is  very  serious 
to  me,  and  I  want  to  know  all  about  it." 

"  Why — why,"  stammered  Trescotte,  not  really 
knowing  what  it  would  do,  for  he  had  not  looked 
beyond  the  separation,  "  why,  at  least,  it  will  show 
the  world  that  you  have  cut  off  all  relations  as  soon 
as  your  knowledge  made  them  improper  to  you." 

"  Ah,  yes,  '  the  world.'  "  She  gave  to  the  phrase 
a  peculiar  inflection  which  Trescotte  could  not 
understand.  "  In  other  words,  if  I  leave  you  now, 
I  shall  have  secured  so  much  respectability  as  the 
world  will  grant  to  one  placed  as  I  am." 

Trescotte  acquiesced  by  a  sign,  so  pained  by  this 
evidence  of  Dorothy's  recognition  of  the  limitations 
of  that  respectability  that  he  could  not  speak. 
For  the  first  time  he  felt  a  self-pity  that  he,  of  all 
persons,  was  compelled  to  force  that  recognition 
upon  her.  She  went  on  remorselessly,  as  he  could 
not  help  thinking. 

"  And  if  I  do  leave  you  now,  shall  I  be  secured 
in  the  old  position  I  held  before  ?  Will  the  doors 
of  all  the  houses  be  opened  to  me  that  were  open 
before  ?  Shall  I  have  the  same  friendships  and 
companionships?  Shall  I  be  permitted  to  associate 
with  the  young  girls  as  I  used  to  do  ?  " 

Trescotte  could  not  answer.  She  had  entered 
upon  a  field  he  had  not  explored,  except  vaguely 
under  the  cover  of  the  phrase  "  her  ruined  life." 

"  Or,"  she  went  on  relentlessly,  "  will  it  not  be, 


SO  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

that  though  I  fly  from  you  as  if  there  were  con* 
tagion  in  your  arms,  that  I  shall  be  a  subject  of 
gossip  and  insolent  sympathy,  until  the  topic  is  for- 
gotten  in  the  misfortune  of  somebody  else ;  dis 
cussed  at  teas,  to  which  I  am  not  invited,  and  dis 
sected  at  dinners,  where  no  plate  is  laid  for  me  ? 
Will  it  not  be  said  that  I  could  have  done  no  less 
to  save  my  respectability,  by  the  very  people  who 
will  be  careful  not  to  leave  a  card  for  me  when  they 
call  upon  mamma  ?  Will  not  everybody  in  my  world 
say  that  I  must  not  expect  to  take  my  old  place, 
but  must  withdraw  from  public  sight  and  contact?" 

"  Is  not  your  view  extreme  ?"  protested  the  har 
rowed  Trescotte. 

"I  think  not,"  she  replied  thoughtfully.  "Was 
not  that  the  fate  of  Mrs.  Hughcombe,  whose  hus 
band  left  her,  for  reasons  no  one  yet  knows?  Was 
not  Mrs.  Edgebury  sent  to  Coventry  because  her 
husband  was  killed  in  a  quarrel  with  Col.  Birney, 
which  grew  out  of  Mr.  Edgebury's  charge  that  the 
Colonel  was  too  marked  in  his  attentions  to  his 
wife  and  had  compromised  her,  although  it  was 
shown  at  the  trial  that  Colonel  Birney  was  merely 
seeking  her  good  offices  to  bring  about  a  reconcilia 
tion  between  himself  and  his  wife  ?  Well,  let  us 
assume  I  have  done  what  you  suggest — what  the 
world,  my  world,  commands,  will  not  the  fate  of 
these  women  be  mine  ?  Shall  I  not  be  what  they 
are — women  with  a  past  ?  " 

Trescotte,  heart  torn  by  this  implacable  dissec 
tion  of  her  position,  cried  out: 


EVOLUTION.  51 

"O  Dorothy,  if  my  death  could  place  you 
where  you  were  three  months  ago,  I  would  gladly 
welcome  it  ! " 

"  But  it  can't,  dear,"  said  Dorothy.  "  So,  we 
must  continue  to  examine  our  position.  Then,  by 
doing  what  you  think  I  ought  to  do,  I  would  gain  a 
respectability  which  would  bring  me  none  of  the 
privileges  or  rewards  of  respectability." 

Trescotte  groaned  over  the  inevitable  conclusion. 
He  again  resorted  to  the  irritating  commonplace: 

"  You  would  do  what  was  right  in  the  sight  of 
the  world." 

"  Ah,  that  world  !  "  Again  that  peculiar  inflection 
so  perplexing  to  Trescotte.  "  I  would  be  doing 
what  the  people,  who  would  carefully  avoid  me, 
would  say  was  right.  Well  then,  that  point  is 
settled.  In  the  sight  of  the  world,  my  world,  to 
leave  you  would  be  my  duty.  To  whom?" 

Trescotte  could  not  answer  readily.  So  she  went 
on : 

"To  you?  You  say  your  position  is  nothing, 
except  as  I  am  taken  from  you.  To  the  world  ? 
What  do  I  owe  it,  since  it  would  banish  me  ?  To 
morality  ?  I  have  obeyed  every  law  laid  down  for 
me  and  am  as  I  am  through  no  fault  of  my  own. 
To  myself?  Ah!  what  would  it  bring  me?  Would 
it  secure  my  happiness  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  child  !  " 

The  utter  hopelessness  of  the  outlook  broke  with 
increased  force  over  Trescotte  again. 

"  If,"  she  said,  tenderly  nursing  the  hand  she  had 


5*  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LLFT  HIMt 

never  let  go  from  her  grasp,  "  if  there  was  happiness 
in  my  life  before  I  met  you,  all  that  brought  it  to 
me  would  be  denied  me.  Since  you  have  come  into 
my  life,  my  chief  happiness  has  been  in  you,  and 
has  come  from  you,  and  that  too  would  be  denied 
me.  So  the  conclusion  is,  that  to  do  my  duty  as  the 
world  sees  it,  is  to  gain  a  respectability  which  has 
neither  privileges  nor  rewards — at  the  sacrifice  of 
all  my  happiness." 

The  mists  suddenly  cleared  from  Trescotte's  brain. 
He  not  only  understood  now,  but  he  saw  clearly  the 
future  of  Dorothy,  with  its  dividing  roads. 

"  Dorothy ! " 

He  sprang  from  his  seat,  lifting  her  with  him, 
and  with  an  arm  about  her  waist,  he  turned  her  face 
to  the  light  that  he  might  read  plainly  its  expres 
sions. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  looking  up  into  the  eyes 
bending  over  her  so  searchingly,  "  I  have  had  such 
happiness  in  the  thought  of  that  beautiful  home 
you  have  builded  for  me.  And  I  have  dreamed  so 
happily  of  our  lives  within  it — that  home  which 
even  now  is  awaiting  us.'' 

"  But  it  is  yours.     I  gave  it  to  you." 

The  smile  with  which  she  answered  him  wa< 
ineffably  divine. 

"  Would  it  be  my  home  and  you  not  there  ?  " 

Trescotte,  drew  her  closely  to  him,  and  in  a  voice 
low  but  laden  with  passion,  asked : 

"You  would  give  up  the  world  for  me?" 

"  If  I  leave  you  the  world  will  have  given  me  up 


EVOLUTION,  53 

by    the   time   I    shall    have    reached    my   father's 
house." 

"  You  would  forsake  friends — family  ?  " 
"  Have  I  not  already  vowed,  in  the  most  sacred 
place,  to  keep  me  only  unto  you,  so  long  as  we  both 
shall  live?" 

Trescotte  folded  Dorothy  close  in  his  arms  in  an 
ecstacy  of  resolve  that  seemed  to  him  like  a  new 
sacrament.     But   again  Society   loomed  up    on  his 
vision — Society  with  its  ethics  and   prejudices,  too 
strong  in  its  influences  from  his  cradle  to  be  lightly 
disregarded.     Gently  disengaging  Dorothy,  he  took 
her  by  the  hands  and,  holding  her  from  him,  asked: 
"  Do  you  know  what  this  involves  ?  " 
"  I  have  thought  it  all  out." 
"The  world  will  condemn  you." 
"  It  will  shun  me,  when  it  does  not  condemn." 
"  It  will  take  from  you  that  respect  it  will  other 
wise  give  you." 

"  But  happiness  will  be  mine." 
"Society  will  ignore  you — insult  you." 
"  I  can  ignore  Society.     It  has  not  a  monoply  of 
happiness." 

Trescotte  silently  held  her  hands,  thinking  pro 
foundly  and  rapidly.  His  spirit  was  not  timid,  nor 
his  love  weak,  and  that  was  why  he  had  the  courage 
to  think  of  and  for  her.  He  saw  the  yawning  guli 
between  the  life  Dorothy  had  lived  and  the  one  she 
was  so  willing  to  enter  upon.  He  was  looking  into 
the  mind  of  the  Dorothy  who  had  passed  through 
the  ordeal  of  ostracism  and  renunciation,  to  find  if 


54  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

she  would  not  then  cry  out  against  those  who  had 
not  protected  her  against  herself. 

He  let  her  hands  slowly  fall  from  his  own,  stag 
gered  by  the  fearful  thought,  and  turned  away  from 
her,  saying: 

"  The  sacrifice  is  too  vast :  it  cannot  be,  it  cannot 
be!" 

He  had  taken  but  a  step  or  two,  when  she  was 
beside  him  with  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
halted  and  listened  to  her  words,  thrilling  in  their 
persuasion : 

"  Do  not  ruin  my  life ! " 

The  afternoon  concert  began  on  the  veranda 
beneath.  The  solemn  melody  of  the  Lohengrin 
Wedding  March  floated  in  through  the  open  win 
dows.  The  tenderness  in  Dorothy's  face  deepened 
as  she  repeated  the  words : 

"  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  for  whither  thou 
goest  I  will  go ;  and  where  thou  lodgest  I  will 
lodge." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  crying: 

"  Until  death  do  us  part." 

The  last  train  for  New  York  was  pulling  out  of 
the  station  when  Mr.  Magrane  stepped  on  board. 
He  had  waited  until  the  last  moment  watching  the 
gate  through  which  travelers  pass  through  to  the 
train. 

Dorothy  was  not  one  of  those  who  passed 
through. 


BOOK  II.— DECISION. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MARRIAGE  A   LA  MODE. 

THAT  Hilda  Courtenay  and  Hermann  Waldemar 
were  engaged  became  known  upon  the  plighting 
of  troth.  No  more  startling  and  sensational  news 
could  have  been  given  currency  in  Newport.  There 
was,  to  be  sure,  an  unusually  large  crop  of  Italian 
princes,  English  earls,  French  counts,  and  German 
barons,  but  where  the  assurance  of  the  reality  of 
their  titles  had  not  been  established,  the  poverty  of 
their  purses  had.  Therefore  with  his  noble  connec 
tions  in  Germany;  his  hundreds  of  thousands  in 
hand  and  millions  in  prospect ;  his  cottage  in  New- 
port,  mansion  in  New  York,  and  villa  at  Tuxedo ; 
his  stable  of  winning  blood  at  Sheepshead  ;  and  his 
yacht  in  the  offing,  young  Waldemar  was  the  most 
desirable  parti  of  the  season. 

Sore  and  bitter  was  the  disappointment  in  fifty 
households  of  that  superior  and  exclusive  commu 
nity  when  their  young  women,  who  had  been  in 
training  all  the  spring,  learned  that  Hilda  Courtenay 
had  been  placed  first,  and  the  rest  nowhere.  It  was 
the  disappointment  of  ambition,  not  of  affection. 

55 


5  6  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

No  doubt,  with  their  anguish  was  mixed  a  little 
fear  of  those  acrid  stings  the  matron  mothers  would 
inflict  when  reproaching  their  dear  daughters  for 
their  want  of  success,  calmly  ignoring  that  these 
failures  were  quite  as  much  due  to  their  own  lack  of 
skill  in  manipulation — a  skill  which  Mrs.  Courtenay 
had  exercised  to  the  confusion  and  humiliation  of 
her  dear  friends. 

In  the  retirement  of  her  own  boudoir,  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  with  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  reviewed 
her  triumph.  It  was  her  triumph  because  it  was 
the  result  of  her  skill.  Hilda  might  flatter  herself 
that  it  was  her  own  charms  that  had  brought  Walde- 
mar  to  her  feet.  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  content  that 
her  daughter  should  remain  in  that  blissful  assur 
ance,  but  that  lady  knew  better ;  she  knew  only  too 
well  with  what  difficulty  the  young  man  had  been 
brought  to  book ;  with  what  cleverness  she  had  pre 
cipitated  the  situation  from  which  there  was  no 
escape  except  through  proposal.  Nor  did  she  in 
her  indulgence  of  a  natural  elation  fail  to  appreciate 
that  the  assurance  of  security  would  not  be  hers 
until  she  had  seen  the  two  young  people  safely 
marriedc  She  could  not  deny  Hilda  the  credit  of 
being  a  most  excellent  and  pliable  instrument. 
That  young  woman  had  beauty,  though  not  of  so 
refined  a  type  as  that  of  Dorothy's ;  and  an  air  of 
fine  distinction,  which,  if  not  of  the  dignity  of  her 
elder  sister,  yet,  when  tricked  out  for  the  course, 
was  quite  impressive.  But  she  possessed  that  in 
which  Dorothy  was  sadly  deficient,  a  realizing  sense 


MARRIAGE  A  LA   MODE.  57 

of  her  duty  to  the  station  of  life  into  which  she  was 
born,  and  she  was  not  cursed,  as  Dorothy  was,  with 
ideas.  All  this  made  her  ductile  in  the  hands  of 
her  mother  ;  and  skillful  her  mother  was — an  artist, 
rather  than  a  mechanic — an  artist  who  knew  how  to 
conceal  art  by  art. 

Not  the  smallest  part  of  the  pleasure  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  derived  from  the  contemplation  of  her  triumph 
was  in  the  knowledge  that  all  her  dear  matron 
friends,  who,  in  the  rounds  of  pleasure  of  the  next 
few  days,  would  greet  her  with  smiling  congratula 
tions,  were  now  consumed  with  angry  envy.  With 
what  never  failing  interest  that  trite  reflection  re 
curs,  that  most  of  our  joys  would  turn  to  dead 
ashes,  could  we  not  know  that  their  possession  was 
the  cause  of  envy,  distress  and  mortification  in 
others  ! 

It  may  be  supposed  that  this  young  Waldemar, 
over  whom  all  this  stir  was  made,  was  a  very 
superior  young  man.  But  we  of  that  world  which 
is  much  the  larger  have  such  differing  ideas  of 
superiority.  John  Brown,  whose  fifteen  plays  were 
damned,  is  compelled  to  look  upon  Alfred  Barnes, 
whose  seven  plays  were  successful,  as  his  superior; 
and  if  he  doesn't,  the  managers,  whose  opinions  are 
decisive,  do.  Charlie  Smith  who  pulls  in  a  single 
skull  race  may  not  think  Tom  Netting  his  superior, 
but  the  crowd  which  applauded  Tom  as  he  shot 
over  the  line  first  thinks  otherwise.  The  dignified 
professors  who  hand  to  Nathanial  the  laurel  wreath 
evidently  consider  him  superior  to  "  Baby"  Elling, 


5 &  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM* 

the  quarter  back,  who  on  last  Thanksgiving  Day 
was  carried  off  the  grounds  on  the  shoulders  of  as 
many  of  his  admirers  as  could  get  under  him. 
Young  Sturdy,  who  is  advancing  rapidly  in  grasp- 
ing  the  essentials  of  the  difficult  problems  of  trans- 
portation,  and  is  steadily  promoted  by  his  admiring 
board  of  directors,  is  not  regarded  by  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  those  directors  as  superior  to  young 
Brochulst,  who  is  equally  skillful  at  turning  a  corner 
with  a  tandem  or  a  four-in-hand.  We  all  have  such 
different  standards.  I  am  disposed  to  believe  that, 
if  a  jury  of  a  hundred  were  picked,  haphazard, 
from  passers-by  of  Broadway,  any  fine  day,  and 
Waldemar  were  presented  before  it  for  judgment. 
he  would  be  voted  a  very  ordinary  young  man. 
Because  the  danger  would  be,  a  majority  would 
not  deem  mansions,  horses,  yachts,  and  pros 
pects  of  riches,  virtues,  but  rather  accessories,  most 
convenient  and  wholly  comfortable  to  possess. 
And  there  might  be  a  few  who  would  insist  that 
morality  had  claims  for  consideration.  If  such  an 
old-fashioned  test  were  applied  to  young  Waldemar, 
I  am  afraid  the  crown  of  superiority  would  be  with- 
held  by  such  a  jury.  Not  that  Waldemar  did  not 
pay  his  debts;  his  income  provided  against  that 
vulgarity.  He  was  honest  in  his  dealings  where 
money  was  concerned — strictly  honorable,  as  was 
shown  in  the  way  he  provided  for  the  little  girl 
whom  he  had  persuaded  to  abandon  her  family  and 
the  six  dollars  a  week  she  earned  at  Grabbies'  shop, 
>vhen  his  affections  were  suddenly  transferred,  one 


MARRIAGE  A   LA   MODE.  59 

night  at  Foster  and  Vials,  to  a  whirling  divinity 
clothed  in  pink  fleshings  and  multi-colored  lights. 
Nor  did  he  ever  fail  to  pay  his  losses — and  they 
were  often  heavy — at  baccarat,  after  the  dear  Prince 
made  that  game  fashionable.  The  men  voted  him 
a  square  fellow,  who  backed  his  horses  to  run  with 
nerve,  a  straight-going  sportsman  at  all  the  games, 
who  devoted  enough  time  to  the  business  in  which 
he  was  a  partner  to  assure  his  father  that  he  would 
succeed  him  with  credit.  With  the  women  he  was 
a  model,  for  he  dressed  immaculately  for  every  oc 
casion,  did  not  smoke  on  the  top  of  his  drag,  nor 
show  evidences  at  social  gatherings  of  too  many 
visits  to  the  champagne  table,  and  was  so  rich 
that  he  could  give  the  woman  he  married  every 
thing  her  heart  desired,  and  I  ask,  in  all  candor,  as 
the  world  is  now  constituted,  what  more  could  be 
wished  ? 

It  was  Tracey  Harte,  one  of  young  Waldmar's 
intimate  friends,  who  gave  the  fact  of  the  engage 
ment  to  the  world.  He  was  making  a  round  of 
calls,  previous  to  his  departure  for  Saratoga,  where 
the  racing  was  about  to  begin,  and  where  his  and 
Waldemar's  horses  were  to  run.  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
received  his  first  call.  This  was  not  because  the 
Trevor-Allen  cottage  was  naturally  the  first  one  he 
would  pass  as  he  sallied  forth  from  his  own  roof,  nor 
because  familiarity  with  the  Trevor-Allen  menage 
assured  him  that  the  aged  head  thereof  had  reached 
that  hour  and  state  when  a  nap  was  a  necessary 
preparation  for  dinner^  but  because  this  season 


60  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMt 

Tracey  affected  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and  made  her  the 
object  of  his  attentive  adoration. 

The  young  matron  accepted  these  attentions 
neither  as  a  tribute  to  her  charms  nor  as  a  proof  of 
his  fascinations,  but  as  a  convenience,  her  husband 
having  passed  into  that  age  and  condition  when  he 
was  neither  useful  nor  obstructive.  It  was  to  the 
young  matrons  that  Tracey  devoted  himself  exclu 
sively.  The  marriage  ceremony,  for  him,  invested 
the  other  sex  with  additional  charms.  The  girl 
whose  presence  politeness  only  prevented  him  from 
ignoring,  became  at  once,  after  leaving  the  altar 
where  she  had  been  breathing  vows  of  devotion  to 
a  husband,  an  object  to  him  of  adoring  interest. 
There  was  something  dashing,  reckless,  "  demn  it, 
don't  you  know,"  in  this  pursuit,  that  suggested  pis 
tols  and  fields  of  honor — the  first  of  which  he  had 
never  discharged  and  the  other  he  would  not  know 
if  he  found  himself  upon  it.  Yet  he  lived  in  daily 
hopes  of  a  scandalous  gossip  in  which  his  name 
would  be  involved,  and  an  affaire  &  amour  with  a 
high-born,  youthful  matron,  which  he  had  never  yet 
achieved,  but  which  was  his  highest  ambition.  He 
had  shown  more  of  good  taste,  and  less  of  good 
judgment  in  his  selection  of  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen, 
than  usual.  For  bright  and  witty,  she  was  gifted 
with  rare  powers  of  penetration  which  enabled 
her  to  read  shrewdly  the  people  who  came  within 
her  ken.  Tracey's  siege  might  have  the  exciting 
qualities  of  the  chase,  but  it  was  destined  to  failure. 
She  told  him  so,  on  the  day  in  question. 


MARRIAGE  A  LA   MODE.  6* 

"Tracey,"  said  that  most  extraordinary  woman 
in  response  to  a  subtle  compliment,  the  coinage  of 
which  had  delayed  his  breakfast  an  hour,  "  Tracey, 
it  is  great  folly  to  make  love  to  me." 

The  young  man  thought  of  something  about 
folly  and  sweetness,  but  it  did  not  take  form  in 
words  quickly  enough,  for  she  went  on : 

"  It  is  such  a  waste  of  your  time." 

He  rose  to  the  occasion : 

"  No  time  is  wasted  which  is  devoted  to  you,"  he 
said  most  gallantly,  and  with  his  most  ravishing 
smile. 

"  Nonsense,"  laughed  this  most  incomprehensi 
ble  of  her  sex.  "  It  is  all  wasted,  from  your  stand 
point.  You're  a  very  nice  boy,  Tracey,  and  getting 
over  your  youth  very  commendably.  I  am  willing 
to  be  your  friend.  But  you  must  stop  making  love 
to  me.  I  fall  out  of  love  much  more  quickly  than 
I  fall  into  it.  Why,  dear  boy,  I  don't  remain  in  love 
long  enough  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  single  after 
noon's  gossip." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  protested  Tracey, 
''you  do  yourself  such  injustice,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  no,  dear  boy,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  quizzi 
cal  twinkle  in  her  dancing  blue  eyes,  "  but  I  am  try- 
ing  to  do  you  justice.  I  want  to  be  your  friend. 
You  see,  Tracey,  dear  boy,  while  you  are  quite  an 
adept  at  love-making,  you  have  not  reached  that 
degree  of  perfection  when  you  can  make  a  woman 
forget  her  marriage  vows.  Perhaps  I  am  all  very  well 
to  practice  on,  but  really,  in  view  of  the  career  you 


62  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIMt 

have  marked  out  for  yourself,  I  think  I  can  best 
show  my  friendship  by  pointing  out  where  you  fail. 
There  is  no  success  for  you  in  a  career  of  gallantry 
until  you  learn  to  be  earnest.  It  is  like  anything 
else  in  life,  you  must  be  in  in  earnest  to  succeed — 
really  in  earnest — you  must  really  fall  in  love  with 
the  object  of  your  attack.  You  never  loved  me, 
you  know." 

"  Ah,  now,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  stammered  the 
poor  youth,  "  how  can  you  say  such  cruel  things, 
after  all  my  devotion  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  the  truth.  If  you  want  to  com 
promise  a  woman,  you  must  not  only  make  her  feel 
that  you  love  her,  but  you  must,  in  fact,  love  her. 
Whether  she  loves  you,  is  immaterial;  better  for 
your  success  that  you  sway  her  pride  than  her 
affections.  As  a  course  of  preparatory  training 
devote  yourself  to  some  single  girl  and  fall  seriously 
in  love  with  her,  with  a  view  to  marriage." 

"  Oh,  now,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  cried  Tracey, 
utterly  disgusted  with  the  advice,  which  if  followed 
would  in  his  opinion  take  so  much  from  his  ton. 

"  Now  there  is  Hilda  Courtenay " 

"  Oh,  she's  gone,"  interrupted  the  young  man. 

"  Gone  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Waldemar  proposed  last  night  and  was  accepted 
on  the  jump  by  the  whole  family." 

"  lo  triumphc  /"  cried  the  lady  with  a  merry  laugh. 
M  Dear  Mamma  Courtenay  carries  off  the  blue  rib 
bon  again.  Oh,  the  tears  of  all  the  rest !  " 

"  It's  dead  luck,  isn't  it?"  asked  Tracey,  trying  to 


MARRIAGE  A    LA    MODE.  63 

follow  her  humor.  "  She  had  a  plater  forced  on 
her  in  Trescotte,  and  he  turned  out  to  be  a  winner. 
Now  she's  caught  the  first  favorite  in  the  pools." 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  repeating  this  technical  charac 
terization  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's  skill  some  hours  later 
to  certain  mortified  matrons,  as  a  succinct  summing 
up  of  the  situation,  rather  than  as  an  illustration  of 
the  proper  use  of  language,  sweetly  and  innocently 
added : 

"  Which  makes  it  so  difficult  to  understand 
whether  it  is  love  or  well-doing  in  manipulation 
which  is  its  own  reward." 

One  of  those  perplexing  remarks  this  perplexing 
young  woman  was  given  to.  It  was  on  this  occa 
sion  also  that  she  gave  that  celebrated  bit  of  advice 
which  was  so  admiringly  quoted  at  the  clubs  the 
next  winter.  Mrs.  Huntington,  with  three  mar 
riageable  daughters  still  in  stock,  after  a  brief  period 
of  cogitation,  emerged  with  the  remark : 

"  Mrs.  Courtenay  has  only  one  daughter  left  to 
provide  for." 

"  Pool  your  issues  and  divide  the  pot  while  the 
game  is  in  your  hands,"  advised  Mrs.  Trevor- Allen. 
"Priscilla  Courtenay  can't  be  chipped  in  for  two 
years  yet.  Mamma  Courtenay,  with  her  skill,  will 
be  out  of  the  game  during  that  time.  Tendre 
<vos  pariers^  les  mesdames" 

There  are  people  who  insist  that  they  see  a  great 
deal  of  satirical  wit  in  that  speech,  but  all  it  sug 
gests  to  me  is  an  acquaintance  with  poker,  Monte 
Carlo,  and  idiomatic  French — three  things  I  detest 


64  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIMt 

in  women,  especially  the  last,  which  I  don't  under 
stand,  and  under  the  cover  of  which  such  disagree 
able  things  are  said — I  never  know  what  until  I  get 
home  and  study  the  dictionary.  But  then  I'm  an 
old  fogy. 

Dorothy  learned  of  the  engagement  by  letter 
from  her  mother  which  reached  her  while  she  was 
roaming  about  in  the  fullness  of  her  own  happy 
honeymoon.  Though  she  quickly  detected  the  note 
of  triumph  in  her  mother's  letter,  yet  she  was  sad 
dened  by  the  news.  So  little  of  the  true  caste 
spirit  did  she  evince  that  she  really  fell  into  a  medi 
tation  as  to  whether  young  Waldemar  with  his 
habits  was  the  sort  of  man  to  make  the  wedded  life 
of  her  sister  happy.  Dorothy  was  cursed  with 
ideas.  But  she  wrote  a  very  pretty  letter  of  con 
gratulation  to  Hilda,  telling  her  her  troth  brought 
new  obligations  to  her  life  which  she  should  study  to 
comprehend;  and  another  quite  as  pretty  to  Walde 
mar,  whom  she  welcomed  as  a  prospective  brother-in- 
law,  lightly  hinting  that  the  peace,  honor,  and  happi 
ness  of  the  fresh  young  life  he  was  about  to  take 
into  his  keeping  could  only  be  secured  by  strict 
observance  of  the  vows  he  would  make  at  the  altar 
side.  Mrs.  Courtenay  laughingly  put  these  letters 
away  when  they  were  given  her  to  read  with 'the 
remark : 

"What  a  dear,  delightful  prig  of  a  daughter 
Dorothy  is!" 

This  was  three  weeks  before  the  dreadful  revela 
tions  at  Saratoga. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN  ECCENTRIC   HONEYMOON. 

THE  Courtenay-Waldemar  engagement  was  no 
longer  a  sensation  in  July.  It  was  an  accepted  fact, 
and  society  had  turned  to  other  considerations. 
But  a  much  greater  sensation — one  which  also 
involved  the  Courtenay  name — was  in  preparation. 
The  first  ripples  of  it  were  felt,  curiously  enough,  by 
those  whose  only  connection  with  that  world  which 
makes  its  habitat  in  Newport  in  the  summer,  is  that 
of  servitors,  caretakers  of  the  city  houses  it  had 
abandoned  for  the  season. 

One  morning  in  July  these  people  were  much 
interested  in  a  gray  stone  house  in  New  York  City, 
the  windows  of  which  looked  out  upon  Central  Park, 
and  which  had  suddenly  shown  signs  of  life.  It 
was  not  so  much  because  the  house  was  occupied, 
for  it  was  current  news  in  the  neighborhood  that  it 
had  been  purchased  and  richly  furnished  by  Henry 
Trescotte  for  the  bride  he  had  made  in  April,  but 
because  it  was  opened  in  July  rather  than  in  Octo 
ber,  as  was  the  understanding. 

To  enter  a  new  house  and  put  it  upon  a  midwinter 
scale,  with  stable  in  complete  array,  in  the  hot 
summer  month,  when  everybody  who  was  anybody 

65 


66  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

had  fled  the  city,  was,  however  satisfactory  to  the 
grocer  and  the  butcher,  erratic.  Those  whose  con- 
tiguity  gave  them  opportunity  for  observation,  but 
whose  social  rank  made  them  uncertain  as  to  aristo 
cratic  procedure,  when  they  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tres- 
cotte  sauntering  in  the  Park  early  in  the  morning, 
and  driving  together  in  the  afternoon,  concluded 
that  it  was  fashion's  new  caprice  as  to  the  honey 
moon.  Of  one  thing,  however,  they  were  in  no 
doubt.  A  more  loverlike  husband  than  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte  no  woman  could  wish  ;  and  the  man  who  did 
not  adore  the  wife  who  received  his  attentions  with 
such  tenderness  did  not  deserve  the  woman  who  had 
given  her  life  to  him. 

But  little  recked  Trescotte  and  Dorothy  what 
these  people  said  or  thought  of  them.  It  was 
neither  to  set  a  new  fashion  nor  to  gratify  curiosity 
that  they  had  deviated  from  the  paths  of  convention. 
When  these  two  young  people  had  determined  to 
their  own  satisfaction  what  their  duty  to  themselves 
and  each  other  was,  they  set  about  considering  what 
sort  of  a  life  they  would  lead.  It  was  in  this  dis 
cussion  that  Trescotte  made  the  discovery  that  in 
the  determination  they  had  reached  they  had  by  no 
means  solved  their  problem.  There  was  an  ugly 
factor,  of  which  they  had  taken  no  heed — that  duty 
the  world  and  society  demanded  as  their  due.  In 
a  moment  of  passionate  exaltation  they  had  sworn 
devotion  anew  and  had  determined  to  live  for  each 
other  and  each  other  alone,  regardless  of  all  opinions. 
But  Trescotte,  his  mind  now  restored  to  its  normal 


AN  ECCENTRIC  HONEYMOON.  6? 

activity,  saw  that  society  not  only  was  powerful,  but 
had  innumerable  ways  of  punishing  infractions  of 
the  laws  it  made,  whether  just  or  not. 

One  thing  was  very  clear  to  him.  They  must  leave 
the  hotel  and  Saratoga  before  their  peculiar  position 
became  known.  He  knew,  were  that  knowledge  to 
become  public  property,  that  Dorothy  would  be 
subjected  to  the  indignities  of  insolent  curiosity  and 
malevolent  gossip  from  those  who  now  were  ser 
vile,  even,  in  their  efforts  to  secure  her  recognition 
He  did  not  falter  in  the  course  they  had  chosen ;  he 
felt  neither  remorse  nor  regret.  Having  cut  the 
strings  by  which  tradition  and  conventionality  had 
bound  him,  when  he  first  considered  Dorothy's 
future,  he  was  brave  in  his  determination  to  face 
the  world  with  her ;  but  it  was  with  a  full  apprecia 
tion  of  the  spites  and  the  cruelties  of  that  world. 
He  saw,  and  without  flinching,  that  his  stout  heart 
and  his  strong  right  arm  must  ever  be  interposed 
between  Dorothy  and  the  world's  numberless  ways 
of  insult.  To  shield  her,  to  keep  her  even  from 
knowledge  of  them,  was  to  be  henceforth  and  always 
the  warfare  of  his  life.  He  did  not  know  to  what 
extent  Magrane  had  spread  the  knowledge  he  had 
acquired,  nor  how  far  malice  might  go  in  striking 
it  might  even  demand  their  retirement  from  the 
hotel.  All  this  he  thought  the  while  Dorothy  was 
nestled  in  his  arms,  content  in  the  victory  she  had 
won,  and  happy  in  the  sacrifice  she  had  made. 

It  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  wiser  course  to  go 
abroad  for  a  few  years,  but  when,  after  Dorothy 


68  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

had  agreed  to  leave  Saratoga  at  once,  he  made  this 
proposition,  she  firmly  declared  such  a  course  to  be 
impossible. 

"  What  we  have  agreed  upon,"  she  insisted,  "  was 
so  agreed  because  it  seemed  to  us  to  be  right — the 
only  thing  under  the  circumstances  we  could  do. 
If  anybody  is  wrong  it  is  not  us,  it  is  society — the 
world — which,  having  made  it  possible  for  us  to  fall 
into  this  position,  would,  under  an  arbitrary  law  of 
its  own  making,  punish  us,  who  are  innocent,  by 
separation.  No ;  if  we  go  abroad,  it  will  appear  as 
if  we  had  fled  from  the  consequences  of  an  evil  we 
admitted.  We  must  not  confess  what  we  do  not 
intend,  by  running  away." 

Trescotte  yielded  to  the  inexorable  logic  that 
flight  was  confession.  Moreover,  he  saw  it  was 
cowardice,  and  against  that  his  soul  revolted. 
Yet  they  must  go  somewhere,  and  the  conditions 
would  be  the  same  wherever  they  went.  So  singu 
larly  strong  are  the  influences  of  custom  and  habit, 
that  it  was  with  a  start  of  surprise  that  he  heard 
Dorothy,  who  had  partly  divined  his  thoughts, 
whisper: 

"  Let  us  go  home." 

It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  possible  to 
reside  in  New  York  City  in  the  summer  months. 

Dorothy's  suggestion  was  the  solution  of  the  diffi 
culties,  but  not  of  the  problem. 

Mr.  Magrane  did  not  see  Mr.  Courtenay  on  the 
night  of  his  return  to  New  York,  nor  for  several  days 
thereafter.  The  Courtenay  family  were  in  Newport, 


AN  ECCENTRIC  HONEYMOON.  69 

a  fact  he  learned  when  he  called  at  the  residence, 
and  which  Trescotte  and  Dorothy  might  hav*i  told 
him  had  they  not  forgotten  it  in  their  agitation. 
Fearing,  however,  that  they  didn't  know  it,  he  tele 
graphed  Dorothy  that  night,  and  returned  to  his 
snug  bachelor  quarters  with  the  intention  of  writing 
the  story  to  Mr.  Courtenay.  But  when  he  sat  down 
to  do  so  he  found  difficulties.  To  merely  inform 
her  father  that  Dorothy  was  living  with  a  man  not  her 
husband  would  be  to  convey  false  impressions ;  and 
to  recite  the  circumstances  in  detail  was  to  engage 
upon  more  than  one  evening's  labor,  and  his  stenog 
rapher  was  not  at  call.  So  he  contented  himself 
with  a  letter  which  requested  Mr.  Courtenay  to  call 
upon  him,  when  that  gentleman  next  visited  New 
York,  with  reference  to  a  matter  deeply  concerning 
his  daughter,  "  now  known  as  Mrs.  Trescotte,"  clos 
ing  with  the  suggestion  that  were  that  visit  made 
immediately,  all  purposes  would  be  best  served. 

Mr.  Courtenay,  on  receiving  this  letter,  condemned 
all  lawyers  to  perdition  for  their  non-committal 
ways  and  legal  phraseology. 

"  They  are  never  certain  of  anything — these  law 
yers,"  he  exclaimed,  much  irritated,  as  he  threw  the 
letter  across  the  breakfast  table  to  his  wife.  "  The 
absurdity  of  that  descriptive  phrase,  '  now  know  as 
Mrs.  Trescotte'!  Bah  !  Their  caution  in  statement 
amounts  to  insanity." 

"  But  what  does  he  want  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
more  concerned  about  the  business  than  the  law 
yer's  way  of  presenting  it. 


70  SHOULD    SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"  Oh,  something  about  property,  I  presume. 
Trescotte  has  made  over  that  new  house  to  Dorothy, 
through  me.  I'll  go  to  the  city  in  a  few  days.  I 
have  other  matters  calling  me  there."  Thus  lightly 
dismissing  the  letter,  he  addressed  himself  to  his 
coffee. 

The  same  day  that  Mr.  Courtenay  received  his 
letter  Mr.  Magrane  was  notified  that  his  telegram 
was  undelivered,  "  the  party  having  left  town."  He 
therefore  concluded  that  Dorothy  had  gone  to  her 
father,  and  that  he  was  out  of  the  affair,  unless  it 
got  into  the  courts. 

When  Dorothy  "left  town,"  she  had  gone  with 
Trescotte  to  Albany,  and  from  thence  to  New  York 
on  the  following  day.  While  she  could  not  see 
reason  for  such  hasty  departure  from  Saratoga,  she 
had  not  opposed  it.  Once  in  New  York,  and  in  her 
own  house,  she  was  so  busy  organizing  its  internal 
economy  that  she  permitted  several  days  to  pass 
before  writing  her  mother  of  their  sudden  change 
of  plans.  Mr.  Courtenay,  little  impressed  by  Mr. 
Magrane's  letter,  had  deferred  his  journey  to  New 
York  from  day  to  day,  so  that  a  week  elapsed  before 
he  saw  that  gentleman.  Since  Dorothy  made  no 
mention  of  the  momentous  events  which  had  sent 
them  to  a  residence  in  New  York  in  midsummer, 
the  only  effect  of  her  letter  on  her  mother  was  to 
cause  that  good  lady  to  condemn  the  eccentricity  of 
her  daughter  and  son-in-law,  and  move  her  to  write 
to  her  husband,  who  had  departed  before  Dorothy's 
letter  had  been  received,  to  call  upon  the  young 


AN  ECCENTRIC  HONEYMOON.  7* 

people  and  ascertain  the  meaning  of  their  eccen 
tricity. 

Mr.  Courtenay,  by  calling  upon  Mr.  Magrant 
before  he  heard  from  his  wife,  had  learned  of  the 
cause,  though  not  of  the  eccentricity.  When  ha 
was  admitted  to  the  lawyer's  room  the  door  was 
carefully  closed  behind  him. 

"  I  presume  you  have  heard  all  from  your  daugh- 
ter,"  said  Mr.  Magrane  gravely  and  sympathetically, 

"  Learned  all  from  my  daughter,"  repeated  Mr. 
Courtenay,  much  impressed  by  the  lawyer's  manner, 
halting  in  his  attempt  to  seat  himself.  "  I  have  not 
seen  my  daughter,  sir,  if  you  mean  Mrs.  Trescotte/7 

"What?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Magrane,  much  aston 
ished.  "  Is  she  not  under  your  care  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,  her  husband  has  abandoned 
her?"  was  Mr.  Courtenay's  indignant  inquiry, 

"  No,  no,"  hastily  protested  the  lawyer.  "  You 
are  ignorant,  then,  of  all  that  has  occurred  ?  '* 

Dorothy's  father  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed. 

"  Sir,"  he  pleaded,  "  do  not  tell  me  she  has  for 
gotten  herself." 

"  No,  no,  no !  You  misunderstand  me  !  "cried  the 
lawyer.  "  There  is  no  wrong  doing  on  either  side — 
that  is,  intentionally." 

Reassured  on  the  only  two  points  he  believed  to 
be  essential,  Mr.  Courtenay  lost  his  temper  and 

demanded   angrily :    "  D it,  sir,  what  do  you 

mean,  then  ?    Tell  me  at  once,  without  this  exasper 
ating  delay." 

"  It  cannot  be  told  in  a  sentence,"  answered  the 


7* 

lawyer,  highly  displeased.  "  Compose  yourself 
Take  your  seat,"  pointing  to  a  chair.  "You  must 
listen  to  a  tale  which  will  give  you  much  pain." 

Trembling  with  apprehension  Mr.  Courtenay  sat 
down.  Without  elaboration,  Mr.  Magrane  in 
lawyerlike  way  told  the  story.  The  old  gentle 
man  could  hardly  wait  for  its  conclusion  to  break 
out  into  angry  denunciation  of  Trescotte. 

"  That  will  not  do,"  put  in  Magrane  firmly  and 
severely.  "  Mr.  Trescotte  is  unhappy  enough,  with- 
out  being  unjustly  blamed.  He  informed  you  of 
the  other  affair  when  he  asked  for  your  daughter/' 

"  But  he  lied  to  me,  sir,  he  lied  to  me,  for  he  said 
the  other  marriage  was  invalid,"  cried  Mr.  Courtenay. 

"  No ;  he  did  not,"  returned  Mr.  Magrane  very 
coolly.  "  He  told  you  the  exact  truth  as  he  knew 
it."  ' 

"  I  shall  have  him  indicted  for  bigamy/'  shouted 
Mr.  Courtenay. 

"  No,  you  will  not."  Mr.  Magrane  by  his  calm 
manner  was  striving  to  cool  the  other.  "  A  true 
bill  can  never  be  found  against  him." 

"  I  shall  sue  him  for  damages." 

"  And  drag  your  family  name  into  a  rude  public 
scandal  ?  " 

Mr.  Magrane  knew  his  man.  This  flash-light 
picture  of  his  family  involved  in  a  public  scandal,  to 
be  read  of  all  the  world,  instantly  quieted  the  old 
aristocrat.  The  lawyer  did  not  disturb  him  as  he 
was  thinking.  Slow  of  comprehension,  and  of 
choleric  temper,  the  superficial  aspect  of  the  com- 


AN  ECCENTRIC  HONEYMOON.  7.3 

plication  had  presented  itself,  to  the  excitement  of 
his  anger.  But  as  the  effect  upon  Dorothy's  life 
and  reputation  infiltrated  his  understanding,  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  sorrow.  Turning  a  distressed 
face  upon  the  lawyer,  in  a  broken  voice,  he  asked  : 

"  What  do  you  propose  doing?  " 

"  I  have  done  all  I  propose  to  do,"  replied  Mr. 
Magrane.  "  All  I  was  authorized  to  do  was  to 
inform  you.  This  I  was  requested  to  do  by  Mr. 
Trescotte." 

"  Where  is  Trescotte  ?  * 

"I  don't  know?" 

"  Where  is  my  daughter? " 

"I  don't  know.  But  as  she  left  her  husband, 
under  my  advice,  on  the  day  I  informed  her  of  the 
true  state  of  affairs,  and  as  she  has  not  reached 
your  house,  I  imagine  she  is  waiting  in  some  obscure 
place  the  result  of  my  communication  to  you/' 

"  She  must  come  home  at  once,"  stoutly  declared 
the  father.  "  I  must  find  her  and  take  her  home. 
The  poor  stricken  dear !  And  she  is  innocent ! 
She  is  blameless,  sir,  blameless ! "  He  added  this  in 
a  fierce  tone,  as  if  Mr.  Magrane  would  combat  it. 

"  No  honest  mind  would  say  the  contrary,"  calmly 
replied  the  lawyer. 

Rising  from  his  chair,  Mr.  Courtenay  leaned 
heavily  on  his  cane,  as  he  stood  over  the  lawyer, 
and  said : 

"  Poor  Dorothy !  it  is  a  bad  mess.  Her  life  is 
mined  at  the  outset." 

A  tear  trickled  down  his  face  and  was  lost  i»  his 


74  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

carefully  brushed  white  whiskers,  which  he  shame 
facedly  wiped  away  with  his  fine  white  handkerchief. 

"  I  am  much  to  blame  for  not  examining  more 
closely  into  that  other  affair,"  he  said  ;  "  but  those 
documents  were  so  convincing,  and — 

"  Do  not  blame  yourself,"  interrupted  the  lawyer, 
"  At  that  time  investigation  would  only  have  con 
firmed  Mr.  Trescotte's  statement.  To  have  with 
held  your  consent " 

Turning  hopelessly  from  the  lawyer,  Mr.  Courte- 
nay  with  halting  step  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   BEWILDERED    FATHER. 

MR.  COURTENAY  returned  to  his  club  too  much 
disturbed  to  engage  in  other  business.  One 
thought  was  uppermost ;  he  must  find  Dorothy  and 
take  her  home.  But  how  ?  She  had  disappeared 
from  sight?  leaving  no  means  of  communication 
behind  her.  A  mighty  fear  possessed  him,  crowd  it 
down  as  he  might ;  it  was  that  Dorothy,  in  her  dis 
grace,  had  ended  her  life,  and  the  thought  of  it 
made  him  very  bitter  toward  Trescotte. 

On  arriving  at  his  club  his  wife's  letter  was 
handed  him.  A  hasty  perusal  assured  him  that 
Dorothy  was  safe  and,  moreover,  in  New  York.  A 
sentiment  of  grateful  joy  took  the  place  of  every 
other  emotion.  He  determined  to  go  to  Dorothy 
without  delay.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  Tres 
cotte  was  with  her.  Had  he  read  his  wife's  letter 
with  more  care,  he  would  have  seen  that  Dorothy 
and  Trescotte  were  occupying  the  house  together. 
He  had  gathered  the  essential  fact  that  his  daugh 
ter  was  safe  and  alive,  and  the  fact,  in  the  distracted 
state  he  was  in,  was  so  important  as  to  obscure  all 
other  considerations,  And  had  not  Magrane  told 
him  that  Dorothy  had  left  Trescotte  immediately? 


?6  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

This  statement,  as  we  know,  was  an  error.  It  was 
not  the  purpose  of  the  lawyer  to  mislead.  When 
informed  that  Dorothy  had  left  town  on  the  night 
of  the  revelation,  he  leaped  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  advice  had  been  followed.  That  Dorothy 
should  go  to  the  house  in  New  York  did  not  seem 
strange  to  her  father.  The  house  was  hers,  held  in 
her  name,  and  he  thought  she  naturally  preferred 
the  seclusion  it  afforded  to  facing  society,  as  she 
must,  were  she  to  go  to  his  home  in  Newport. 
Indeed,  he  thought  she  was  prompted  by  that 
delicacy  of  discretion  a  daughter  of  Herbert  Courte- 
nay  naturally  would  show. 

When  Dorothy  came  to  him  in  the  reception 
room  into  which  he  had  been  shown  by  a  neat  lad 
in  livery,  very  satisfactory  to  his  eye,  critical  in  such 
things,  he  greeted  her  with  an  effusive  tenderness, 
which  was  not  his  wont.  He  was  not  so  unobserv 
ant  as  to  fail  to  note  that  Dorothy  did  not  seem  to 
be  utterly  broken  down  with  grief,  but  it  was  fleeting,, 
this  notice,  all  else  was  lost  in  the  joy  of  finding  her. 

"  My  dear,  dear  daughter  !  "  he  cried  as  he  tenderly 
embraced  her. 

Dorothy  was  much  surprised  at  this  greeting,  so 
unlike  her  father.  When  his  card  had  been  handed 
her  she  had  nerved  herself  for  a  storm  of 
reproaches  and  angry  protests.  She  knew  what 
prejudices  she  was  opposing,  and  that  her  father 
was  the  embodiment  of  them  all.  Believing  her 
father  to  be  fully  informed  of  all  the  events,  includ 
ing  her  own  determination  not  to  be  separated 


A   BEWILDERED  FATHER.  77 

from  Trescotte,  she  was  led  into  the  error  of  believ 
ing  that  therefore  the  presence  of  her  father  in 
that  house,  that  is,  the  home  of  Trescotte  and  her 
self,  was  in  a  measure  approval  of  her  course. 

"  You  have  heard  all  the  story,  then?"  she  asked. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Mr.  Magrane,"  her 
father  replied.  "  My  dear  girl,  my  heart  bleeds  for 
you.  Had  I  only  made  an  investigation !  I  blame 
myself  so." 

Dorothy  checked  him  before  he  could  say  more. 

"  No,"  she  protested.  "  Do  not  blame  yourself. 
No  one  is  to  blame — no  one  at  all  can  be  blamed." 

"Not  even  Trescotte?"  exclaimed  the  old  gentle 
man,  surprised,  for  he  had  expected  condemnation 
of  him  from  her. 

"  No  ;  not  my  husband — he,  least  of  all." 

"  You  are  very  generous,  my  dear !  "  There  was 
the  suggestion  of  a  sneer  in  his  tone,  but  faint  as  it 
was  Dorothy  caught  it. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied  with  increased  spirit. 
"  Harry  has  acted  most  honorably  and  uprightly. 
Why  should  he  be  blamed  ?  He  was  himself 
deceived,  and  he  made  no  attempt  to  deceive  us, 
or  to  conceal  anything  from  us.  Everybody  who 
knew  anything  of  the  affair  believed  as  he  did — that 
the  previous  marriage  was  no  marriage." 

Mr.  Courtenay  was  bewildered.  Dorothy  seemed 
to  be  more  anxious  to  defend  Trescotte  from  impu 
tation  than  to  bemoan  her  own  fate.  In  fact,  to 
all  outward  appearances,  she  was  not  sorrowing  at 
all.  She  really  seemed  to  be  happy,  cheerful,  and 


78  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

contented.  This  certainly  was  confusing  to  a  father 
who  had  come  prepared  to  find  a  daughter  over 
whelmed  with  grief,  and  hurling  reproaches  at  him 
for  his  failure  to  exercise  proper  protection  of  her. 

"  Where  is  Trescotte  now?  "  he  suddenly  asked. 

"  He  has  gone  a  short  distance.  He  will  not  be 
long." 

Mr.  Courtenay  stared  at  his  daughter.  Then  in 
his  amazement  he  almost  shouted  his  next  question. 

"  He  is  not  here — living  in  this  house  ?  " 

The  scales  dropped  from  Dorothy's  eyes.  She 
knew  now  that  her  father  had  heard  nothing  as 
to  their  determination  as  to  their  future,  but  she 
answered  smilingly  with  another  question  : 

"  Did  you  suppose  I  was  living  here  alone  ?  " 

Mr.  Courtenay  was  speechless.  Dorothy  con 
tinued  to  ask  questions. 

"  Did  not  mother  tell  you  we  had  opened  the 
house  ?  I  wrote  her  we  had.  Did  not  Mr.  Magrane 
tell  you?" 

"  He  told  me  you  had  left  Trescotte,"  interrupted 
her  father,  recovering  somewhat  from  his  confusion. 

"  He  was  mistaken,"  calmly  replied  Dorothy, 
nerving  herself  for  the  storm.  "  He  advised  that 
course,  but  did  not  give  me  sufficient  reasons  why  I 
should  leave  my  husband." 

Her  father  was  in  a  fog.  It  was  plain  to  see  he 
could  not  grasp  the  situation.  His  senses  were 
obscured.  One  thing  only  was  plain  to  him — the 
one  thing  he  had  seen  from  the  beginning.  He 
must  take  Dorothy  home  with  him. 


A   BEWILDERED  FATHER.  79 

He  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  said  commandingly : 

"  Come ! " 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

"  With  me.     Home." 

"  This  is  my  home." 

She  was  calm,  but  firm  and  strong.  Poor  Mr. 
Courtenay.  He  sank  back  into  his  chair  helpless. 
His  mind  had  broken  from  its  moorings  and  was 
beginning  to  drift.  He  surely  could  not  have 
understood  his  daughter. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  began,  "  that  you 
mean  to  live  here,  with  this  man — with  this  Tres- 
cotte — who  is  not  your  husband  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  live  here,  of  course,"  replied  Dorothy, 
her  head  very  erect,  "  and  with  Mr.  Trescotte,  who 
is  my  husband  ?" 

By  this  time  the  old  gentleman's  mind  was  out 
in  the  current  and  at  its  mercy.  He  lay  back  in  his 
chair  looking  upon  his  daughter  impotently. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked  feebly,  "  that 
the  story  I  have  been  told  to-day  is  not  true?" 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  true,  in  every  particular." 

A  gleam  of  hope  lighted  up  Mr.  Courtenay's 
horizon. 

"Trescotte  has  found  a  way  to  break  these 
bonds?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

He  was  drifting  again. 

"Then  why  do  you  call  him  your  husband?"  he 
asked. 

"  Because  he  is  my  husband." 


So  SHOULD   SHE    HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

This  answer  only  confused  the  old  gentleman  the 
more.  He  began  to  believe  it  a  case  beyond  him, 
and  was  devoutly  wishing  that  her  mother  was  with 
him  to  understand  this  daughter  who  had  always 
been  a  puzzle  to  him,  and  never  more  than  now. 
He  sat  quite  still  trying  to  comprehend  it  all. 

"  Father,"  said  Dorothy  after  a  moment,  having 
waited  for  her  father  to  speak,  and  perceiving  that 
now  she  must  take  the  aggressive.  "  Father,  while 
you  have  been  told  of  the  discovery  Mr.  Adams 
made  a  few  months  ago,  you  have  not  been  told  all. 
And  when  I  think  of  it,  I  don't  know  who  could 
have  told  you  except  my  husband  or  myself.  I  will 
tell  you  now." 

Mr.  Courtenay  straightened  himself  into  an  atti 
tude  of  attention.  This  incomprehensible  thing 
was  to  be  made  plain.  Dorothy,  with  the  color  in 
her  face  heightened  and  her  eyes  very  bright,  leaned 
forward,  and  taking  from  the  small  table  at  her  side 
a  fan,  played  with  it  as  she  gathered  her  thoughts. 
Mr.  Courtenay,  closely  observing  her,  thought  that 
with  her  brown  hair,  deep  brown  eyes,  and  clear 
brown  skin  showing  through  the  black  lace  of  her 
dress,  she  was  in  appearance  a  worthy  daughter  of 
an  especially  favored  race,  whatever  her  conduct 
might  be. 

"  That  day,"  she  began,  "  when  Mr.  Magrane 
told  us  of  the  distressing  discovery,  Harry  and  I 
long  discussed  my  duty." 

"  Your  duty  was  to  leave  him  at  once ! "  interjected 
her  father  austerely. 


A   BEWILDERED   FATHER.  8 1 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  was  the  first  thought,"  replied 
Dorothy.  "  That  is  what  Mr.  Magrane  said,  and  it 
was  what  Harry  had  supposed  I  would  do." 

"  And  tried  to  persuade  you  from  doing,"  again 
interjected  her  father. 

"•  You  are  much  mistaken.  He  used  neither  per 
suasion  nor  command.  It  was  I  who,  having 
thought  it  all  out  while  Mr.  Magrane  was  talking, 
thought  differently." 

"  You  ?  "     Mr.  Courtenay  was  aghast. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Dorothy  bravely.  "  If  there  is 
anything  wrong  in  my  being  here,  I  must  be  charged 
with  the  wrong.  But  I  do  not  believe  there  is.  I 
showed  Harry  that  we  were  innocent  of  any  wrong 
doing ;  that  we  had  obeyed  all  the  laws  of  man  and 
church  ;  that  if  we  were  in  a  false  position,  where 
dishonor  could  be  charged,  it  was  not  of  our  mak 
ing.  At  the  very  worst  it  was  our  misfortune." 

"  Very  true,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Courtenay,  striving 
hard  to  follow  his  daughter. 

"  I  further  showed  him  that  the  position  was  the 
results  of  defect  in  the  social  system  ;  that  though 
we  had  scrupulously  observed  the  laws  and  forms 
society  and  church  prescribed  for  us,  we  were  not 
protected  from  the  failures  of  those  forms  and  laws ; 
that  having  failed,  and  we  the  victims  thereof,  both 
society  and  church  would  punish  me,  the  woman, 
for  having  been  the  victim  of  its  own  shortcomings, 
though  I  fled  from  him  at  once." 

This  was  a  little  beyond  the  old  gentleman's  com 
prehension.  He  struggled  with  the  statement  for  a 


82  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

moment,  for  Dorothy  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
some  remark,  and  evolved  finally  :  "  There  is  always 
sympathy  for  the  unfortunate." 

Dorothy  resented  the  remark  with  something  like 
impatience.  She  knew  it  to  be  so  untrue.  But  she 
went  on  with  her  statement. 

"  Now  church  and  law  being  responsible  for  our 
position,  and  society  inevitably  punishing  me  for 
being  in  the  position,  all  the  influences  would  be 
for  further  punishment  of  us  by  separating  us.  So, 
after  looking  the  matter  over  carefully,  we  refused 
to  abandon  our  relations  into  which  we  had  entered 
under  sanction  of  law  and  church,  to  refuse  to  per 
mit  a  system,  or  two  systems,  which  had  once  pro 
nounced  us  man  and  wife,  to  withdraw  their  sanc 
tion  because  of  their  own,  not  our,  defects.  We 
determined  for  ourselves  that  Henry  Trescotte  was 
still  my  husband,  and  that  I,  Dorothy,  was  still 
the  wife  of  Henry  Trescotte.  What  God  had  put 
together,  we  would  not  let  any  man  put  asunder." 

Mr.  Courtenay  did  not  understand,  but  he  was 
horrified. 

"  This  is  blasphemous  !  "  he  stammered. 

"What  is?"  asked  Dorothy  argumentatively. 
M  That  we  refuse  to  be  made  victims  of  defects  in 
social  and  churchly  laws?" 

"  It  is  blasphemous  to  talk  so  !  "  cried  Mr.  Courte 
nay,  clinging  to  the  word  which  seemed  so  apt. 

*l  I  said  churchly  laws,  father,"  said  Dorothy, 
"  not  holy  laws,  nor  the  laws  of  God.  Those  laws 
were  made  by  churchmen,  therefore  are  human,  and 


A   BEWILDERED  FATHER.  83 

being  human  are  imperfect.  No,  I  am  far  from 
being  blasphemous,  for  I  defy  you  to  find  in  all  of 
God's  Word  condemnation  of  our  course." 

This  was  getting  into  the  realm  of  metaphysics, 
where  the  old  gentleman  had  never  ventured,  and 
where  now  he  refused  to  follow ;  he  knew  that 
Dorothy's  position  was  opposed  to  all  his  teachings, 
and  so  he  sprang  from  his  seat  angrily.  "  Enough 
of  this  !  "  he  cried.  "  Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  leave  my  husband." 

The  issue  was  clearly  made.  The  old  man  bowed 
his  head  and  walked  unsteadily  to  the  door.  Then, 
suddenly,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  occurred  to  him, 
he  turned  quickly  and  bent  upon  Dorothy  a  swift 
and  searching  look.  She  had  risen  and  was  stand 
ing  in  the  center  of  the  small  room,  looking  after 
him  sadly. 

"  I  see — I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said  as  he  went  back 
to  her,  taking  her  hand.  "  Truly,  you  have  had 
trouble  enough  to  have  unsettled  a  stronger  reason. 
Good-by,  child." 

He  kissed  her,  adding  : 

"  You  will  see  me  again  soon,  and  then  I  shall  bring 
someone  with  me,  who,  I  hope,  can  do  you  good." 

He  went  out  of  the  house  hurriedly. 

Mr.  Courtenay  had  not  been  long  gone  when 
Trescotte  returned.  He  found  Dorothy  still  in  the 
reception  room,  not  a  little  sad  over  the  interview 
with  her  father.  She  told  Trescotte  of  her  father's 
call,  his  demand  that  she  should  go  with  him,  her 
refusal,  and  her  father's  remark  on  leaving. 


84  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"  He  meant  that  he  would  send  mamma  to  me,'' 
she  concluded.  "  Well,  I  hope  he  will,  and  soon. 
The  visit  of  mother  is  the  only  ordeal  I  dread,  and  I 
want  it  over,  so  that  we  can  settle  into  our  regular 
and  happy  life." 

They  embraced  each  other  tenderly,  forgetting 
that  servants  were  in  the  way,  and  Dorothy  went  to 
prepare  for  her  afternoon's  ride.  About  the  time 
she  stepped  into  that  new  Brewsters,  drawn  by  that 
wonderful  pair  of  hackneys  which  were  the  admira 
tion  of  the  neighborhood,  her  father  was  sending  a 
dispatch  to  her  mother,  demanding  her  coming  to 
New  York  without  an  hour's  delay. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  DIPLOMATIC    MOTHER. 

MRS.  COURTENAY  complied  with  her  husband's 
imperative  demand.  The  demand,  however,  did  not 
put  her  in  an  amiable  frame  of  mind.  It  did  not 
seem  proper  that  one  of  her  rank  and  social  im 
portance  should  be  subject  to  the  calls  of  such  a 
modern,  "  hustling "  thing  as  the  telegraph.  A 
letter  by  mail  would  have  been  more  decorous,  even 
if  there  had  been  thereby  a  sacrifice  of  time.  She 
knew  of  nothing  in  their  affairs  demanding  such 
vulgar  haste.  Nor  was  it  proper  that  she  should 
travel  alone.  Since  her  marriage  she  had  never  been 
on  cars  or  steamers  unaccompanied  by  her  husband. 
However,  she  overcame  the  latter  objection  by 
taking  her  maid  with  her,  and  her  husband's  valet, 
who  was  conveniently  married  to  that  maid.  Then, 
so  unsatisfactory  is  the  telegraph,  she  neither  knew 
the  meaning  of  her  journey  nor  the  duration  of  her 
stay.  Consulting  Hilda,  that  young  woman,  wise  in 
her  generation,  said :  "  Go  prepared  for  anything." 
So  Mrs.  Courtenay,  within  four  hours  after  the  time 
she  had  received  her  husband's  telegram,  was  en 
route  for  New  York  with  five  trunks,  two  servants, 

85 


86  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

and  a  severe  countenance  threatening  an  uncomfort 
able  meeting  to  Mr.  Courtenay. 

The  hour  was  early  when  she  reached  New  York, 
but  Mr.  Courtenay  was  at  the  station  to  meet  her. 
What  fund  of  remark  she  had  stored  up  for  her 
husband's  profit  and  pleasure  was  forgotten  in  the 
first  glance  she  gave  him.  His  face  told  her  that 
the  business  which  had  caused  her  hurried  journey 
was  serious,  and  her  presence  necessary. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  whispered  after  her  hasty  kiss 
of  salutation,  a  fear  of  loss  of  property  possessing 
her. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  here,"  he  answered.  "  Let 
Dawson  look  after  the  luggage.  We'll  hurry  to  the 
hotel." 

"  Is  it  loss  of  money?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no  !  "  replied  her  husband.  "  But 
you  must  wait ;  it  is  too  delicate  a  matter  to  talk  of 
in  public  places." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  was  compelled  to  exercise  her 
patience,  but  when  the  privacy  of  their  room  was 
reached  she  dismissed  her  maid  and  demanded  to 
be  informed. 

She  was  astonished,  distressed,  but  not  over 
whelmed,  as  the  story  was  unfolded  to  her.  Social 
position  was  not  lost ;  that,  a  hurried  review  assured 
her.  She  was  somewhat  alarmed  as  to  the  effect  the 
revelation  might  have  upon  the  Courtenay- Walde- 
mar  engagement,  and  she  saw  the  possible  necessity 
of  careful  treatment  to  prevent  a  rupture  of  the 
most  brilliant  match  of  the  season. 


A  DIPLOMATIC  MOTHER.  87 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  she  gave  no  heed  to 
Dorothy's  position,  and  that  she  was  not  saddened 
over  her  daughter's  plight.  But  Mrs.  Courtenay 
was  not  a  common  woman.  She  was  like  the  com- 
mander  of  an  army  in  battle  coming  upon  the  field 
after  his  troops  had  been  engaged  and  had  sus 
tained  slight  reverses — like  Sheridan  at  Cedar  Creek, 
for  instance.  Does  anyone  suppose  that,  arriving  on 
the  field,  that  great  soldier  did  not  in  one  searching, 
sweeping  glance  assure  himself  of  what  had  not  been 
lost,  before  he  addressed  himself  to  repairing  the 
damage  inflicted  by  the  enemy ;  that  he  did  not  de 
tect  in  that  rapid  comprehension  the  possibilities  of 
weakness  in  the  points  in  the  line  where  all  seemed 
strong  ?  Similarly  did  Mrs.  Courtenay  survey  her 
field  of  battle.  Before  she  began  a  serious  discus 
sion  of  Dorothy's  position,  she  rapidly  summed  up 
what  was  not  lost  and  what  must  be  guarded  to  pre 
vent  being  lost  by  the  reverse  sustained.  She  even 
stopped  to  upbraid  her  husband  for  his  stupidity  in 
not  making  a  rigid  investigation  into  that  other  mar 
riage  affair,  and  his  turpitude  in  withholding  knowl 
edge  of  it  from  her.  But  however  willing  Mr. 
Courtenay  had  been  to  heap  reproaches  on  his 
own  head,  or  to  rest  meekly  under  those  of  his 
daughter,  as  he  had  intended,  should  she  have  re 
proached  him,  he  was  not  content  to  hear  a  single 
word  of  rebuke  from  his  wife,  and  made  that  so 
apparent  that  she  desisted. 

"  Dorothy  must  immediately  go  home  with  us," 
was  her  conclusion,  after  she  had  grasped  and 


88  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE   LEFT  HIM  f 

digested  the  situation.  "  It  is  the  only  thing  she 
can  do.  If  she  remains  with  Trescotte  her  reputa 
tion  will  be  lost,  and  there  will  be  no  hope  for  her 
social  rehabilitation." 

"Is  there  any  now?"  hopelessly  asked  the 
father. 

"  Perhaps  not  at  once,"  hesitatingly  replied  the 
lady.  "  But  when  we  have  made  the  true  story 
known  with  our  color  of  it,  and,  with  the  great 
influence  our  two  families,  with  all  their  connections, 
can  exert,  it  will  be  accomplished  in  time.  Un 
less "  she  added  hastily,  and  then  stopping  with 

an  anxious  frown  upon  her  face  she  lost  herself  in 
deep  thought. 

"What  is  the  unless?"  finally  asked  Mr.  Courte- 
nay,  tired  of  waiting  for  his  wife  to  emerge. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  replied  that  lady  nervously, 
as  she  roused  herself.  "  Order  the  breakfast,  Her 
bert.  I'm  famished.  Afterward,  I  will  go  to 
Dorothy.  While  I  am  gone  you  can  arrange  for 
another  apartment  for  her  here.  I  shall  bring  her 
back  with  me." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  replied  her  husband,  as 
he  crossed  the  room  to  touch  the  electric  bell.  "  She 
seems  determined  to  remain  with  Trescotte  in  spite 
of  all." 

Resuming  his  seat,  he  gave  to  his  wife  an  inter 
pretation  of  Dorothy's  argument  of  the  previous 
day — an  interpretation  which  his  daughter  assuredly 
would  have  repudiated.  It  was  far  from  his  inten 
tion  to  misrepresent  Dorothy's  views,  but  as  it  was 


A   DIPLOMATIC  MOTHER.  89 

his  understanding  of  them,  it  gave  his  wife  an 
erroneous  impression, 

"  Why,  she  is  positively  blasphemous!  "  exclaimed 
that  lady,  much  horrified. 

"  That's  what  I  told  her,"  said  Mr.  Courtenay. 
much  pleased  to  find  his  view  sustained  by  his  wife, 
and  by  the  same  word. 

"The  troubles  must  have  turned  her  head,"  con 
tinued  the  lady. 

"  There  !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman  energetically. 
"  Now  we  are  down  to  the  practical  consideration. 
There  is  the  reason  why  I  thought  it  necessary  to 
send  for  you  so  hurriedly.  I  think  she  should  be 
immediately  visited  by  specialists." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  stared  at  her  husband  dumbly. 
Her  own  remark  was  a  mere  figure  of  speech. 

"  You  see,"  continued  the  husband,  "  you  can't 
account  for  the  position  Dorothy  has  taken  upon 
any  other  ground.  She  insists  that  she  is  wholly 
responsible  for  her  determination'  not  to  be  sep 
arated  from  Trescotte.  He,  in  the  very  beginning, 
concluded  that  she  would  leave  him,  and  she  insists 
it  was  she  who  persuaded  him  to  the  other  view. 
Now,  when  you  find  a  girl  like  Dorothy,  brought  up  as 
she  has  been,  carefully  guarded  against  radical  and 
destructive  ideas,  a  Courtenay,  into  whose  blood  is 
blended  that  of  the  Van  Aliens,  both  families  having 
centuries  of  conservatism  behind  them,  deliberately 
entertaining  and  acting  upon  such  views  as  Dorothy 
expresses,  why  there  is  only  one  conclusion  to  reach 
— her  reason  is  dethroned — temporarily,  however, 


9°  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM  I 

for  there  is  insanity  neither  in  the  blood  of  the  Van 
Aliens,  nor  the  Courtenays." 

The  summoned  waiter  appeared  and  received  his 
order,  the  while  Mrs.  Courtenay  went  into  another 
brown  study.  Possibly  her  husband  had  given  the 
explanation  of  Dorothy's  strange  course,  and 
wouldn't  that  be  the  best  excuse  for  withdrawal  for 
a  while  ? 

"  Well,"  she  said  aloud,  more  in  answer  to  her 
own  thoughts  than  as  addressing  her  husband.  "  I'll 
have  a  talk  with  her  first.  After  that,  perhaps  it  will 
be  well  to  have  Dr.  Balkin  see  her." 

Dr.  Balkin  was  the  family  physician,  much  trusted 
and  respected  by  Mrs.  Courtenay — very  skillful,  very 
brusque,  and  given  to  plain  speech,  whether  the 
same  was  agreeable  or  not.  Dorothy  was  a  great 
favorite  with  the  old  doctor,  and  had  been  from 
girlhood. 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  be  better  for  Dorothy  to  come 
to  us  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"It  would,"  returned  her  husband,  "but  she 
won't  come  if  sent  for.  No,  my  dear,  call  upon  her 
first  and  form  your  judgment.  I  think  it  will  coin 
cide  with  mine." 

Breakfast  over  Mrs.  Courtenay  lost  no  time  in 
going  to  Dorothy.  The  Trescotte  mansion,  for 
such  it  was,  pleased  her.  She  could  not  but  admit 
that  it  would  be  desperately  hard  to  give  up  such 
a  house.  She  could  not  call  to  her  memory  any 
house  of  her  acquaintance  more  perfect  in  its 
appointments,  more  richly,  yet  tastefully  furnished, 


A   DIPLOMATIC  MOTHER.  gi 

and  about  which  there  was  an  atmosphere  of 
greater  refinement  or  more  elegant  luxury.  When, 
in  the  broad  spacious  hall,  on  her  way  to  Dorothy's 
boudoir,  whither  she  had  been  summoned,  she 
encountered  Downs,  the  old  Trescotte  major-domo 
whom  she  had  known  since  girlhood,  she  knew  that 
the  service  was  as  near  perfection  as  human  skill 
could  make  it,  and  there  was  a  feeling  of  pride  she 
could  not  suppress  as  she  returned  the  deferential 
yet  self-respectful  salutation  of  Downs.  These  old 
servants  are  the  American  patents  of  nobility. 

If  Mrs.  Courtenay  anticipated  an  easy  victory 
over  her  daughter  she  was  doomed  to  disappoint 
ment.  Dorothy's  greeting  of  her  mother  was 
warmly  affectionate.  She  cried  a  little  as  she  laid 
her  head  upon  her  mother's  ample  bosom.  But 
it  was  from  nervousness  and  affection,  not  from 
sorrow  or  a  sense  of  shame.  She  had  sat  a  long 
time  with  Trescotte  the  previous  night,  traversing 
the  whole  affair,  and  had  retired  stronger  in  her 
determination  not  to  let  the  world  and  society  ruin 
her  life,  and  more  confirmed  in  her  conviction  that 
the  course  chosen  was  the  right  one,  and  not  in 
contravention  of  moral  laws  rightly  considered, 

Mrs.  Courtenay  soon  discovered  that  the  woman 
"now  known  as  Mrs.  Trescotte,"  as  Mr.  Magrane 
had  put  it,  wras  a  different  person  from  the  girl 
who  had  left  her  with  a  tender,  clinging  kiss,  redo 
lent  of  orange  blossoms.  There  was  a  passing 
premonition  that  her  task  was  not  as  easy  as  it 
appeared  at  the  breakfast  table. 


92  SHOULD   SHE  HAVTE  LEFT  HIM? 

Diplomacy  is  assumption  and  presumption.  We 
assume  that  there  is  no  other  view  of  the  subject 
we  are  about  to  discuss  than  the  one  we  maintain, 
and  presume  that  this  is  conceded  by  the  other  side. 
Mrs.  Courtenay  was  a  social  and  domestic  diplomat. 
She  made  her  first  move  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  the  game.  She  met  with  an  immediate 
check.  Dorothy  conceded  nothing.  Indeed  she 
was  positive  there  were  other  views  than  those 
entertained  by  her  mother,  which,  though  not  held 
by  everybody,  were,  nevertheless,  based  on  truth  and 
good  morals.  The  issue  was  joined  in  the  begin 
ning.  Mrs.  Courtenay,  with  all  the  force  she  could 
summon  and  the  ingenuity  she  could  command, 
made  a  presentment  of  the  conventionalities. 
Dorothy  met  it  with  the  arguments  she  employed 
with  Mr.  Magrane,  Trescotte,  and  her  father,  per 
haps  with  a  little  more  skill,  because  they  were  now 
a  little  more  familiar  to  her  lips  and  vocabulary. 
In  vain  did  Mrs.  Courtenay  plead  that  morality  was 
opposed  to  Dorothy's  course.  For  each  statement 
the  daughter  had  an  answer,  and  for  each  argument 
a  counter  one.  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  on  which 
side  lay  the  logic,  but  if  sophistry  was  Dorothy's 
weapon  it  was  effective  against  logic  in  her  mother's 
hands.  Mrs.  Courtenay  beaten,  if  not  convinced, 
retired  from  the  discussion  of  the  moral  aspect  and 
addressed  herself  to  the  social,  where  she  thought, 
as  she  had  a  right,  she  was  invincible,  since  she  was 
a  leader  in  forming  social  la  ;vs  and  customs.  When 
she  presented  to  Dorothy  the  fact  that  she  could 


A   DIPLOMATIC  MOTHEK.  93 

not  remain  in  her  present  relations  without  falling 
under  the  condemnation  of  society,  Mrs.  Courtenay 
imagined  that  she  had  presented  the  all-powerful 
argument,  for  she  could  not  imagine  happiness,  much 
less  existence,  under  such  a  condition.  And  on  this 
point  she  pressed  her  daughter  hard,  bringing  all  her 
artillery  to  bear  with  practiced  skill  and  great  knowl 
edge.  Then  suddenly  up  rose  Dorothy  and  con 
founded  her  mother  with  a  simple  statement  of 
fact,  but,  oh,  how  important  and  far  extending  in 
its  consequences. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  turning  and  turning  her 
marriage  ring,  which  she  wore  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  other  rings,  that  it  might  be  the  more  con 
spicuous,  "  this  is  the  crisis  of  my  life — the  one 
great  crisis  of  all  my  life,  and  I  must  look  to  myself 
selfishly.  I  know  the  swift  condemning  world  will 
say  that  the  course  I  am  pursuing  is  not  moral. 
But  it  will  say  so  in  ignorance.  I  refuse  to  sacrifice 
myself  and  my  happiness  to  such  ignorance.  But 
whether  I  do  or  do  not  yield  to  its  demand,  the  result 
is  the  same  to  me.  It  will  ostracize  me  in  either 
event.  So  it  is  for  me  to  choose  whether  I  will 
accept  ostracism  without  happiness,  or  ostracism 
with  happiness.  I  have  chosen.  That  is  all." 

"  But  I  deny  that  ostracism  will  be  the  result  of 
this  misfortune,"  exclaimed  her  mother,  and  then 
weakened  her  denial  by  adding,  "  that  is,  an 
ostracism  we  cannot  in  time  overcome." 

Dorothy  turned  to  her  mother  a  hallowed  face, 
sanctified  by  such  exquisite  tenderness  and  sublime 


94  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

love  that  her  brown  eyes  were  deepened  Into 
black — soft,  lustrous  black. 

"  Ah,  mother,  you  do  not  understand.  Could 
you  present  to  your  world  the  same  girl  Dorothy 
Courtenay  was  that  day  when  she  left  her  girl 
home  for  the  last  time,  perhaps  you  might.  Mar- 
riage  is  transformation.  Dorothy  Courtenay  has 
passed  away.  She  no  longer  exists." 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  twining  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck  in  the  way  Mrs.  Courtenay 
remembered  so  well  of  old,  said  in  a  sweet  low  voice : 

"  And  can  Mrs.  Herbert  Courtenay,  even,  plead 
for  the  social  position  of  a  daughter,  who  by  flying 
to  her  father's  home  admits  she  is  not  a  wife,  yet 
who  bears  in  her  arms  the  evidence  she  should  be? 
A  life  is  quickening — a  dear  little,  human  life,  and 
the  crown  of  motherhood,  is  making  ready  for  me." 

Oh,  divine  motherhood!  Oh,  the  divine  mother 
love — that  silver  cord,  which  draws  all  mother  hearts 
together  into  the  bonds  of  common  sympathy. 
Forgotten  the  world  and  society,  forgotten  the 
pride  of  rank  and, the  ambitions  of  caste,  forgotten 
the  splitting  of  moral  hairs,  in  that  precious  moment 
when,  impulse  and  affection  taking  sway,  Dorothy 
found  herself  in  her  mother's  arms. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHANGING  THE  TACTICS. 

IF  confounded,  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  not  dismayed. 
The  knowledge  which  Dorothy  had  imparted,  while 
it  had  drawn  forth  an  unusual  exhibition  of  sym 
pathy  and  affection,  did  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
lessen  Mrs.  Courtenay 's  determination  to  effect  a 
separation.  Though  appeals  to  Dorothy's  womanly 
pride,  social  ambition,  and  moral  sense  had  failed, 
other  means,  indirect,  if  needs  be,  must  be  em 
ployed.  The  task  of  bringing  Dorothy  to  her 
senses,  which  had  seemed  so  easy  as  she  lingered 
over  the  breakfast  table,  in  the  effort  was  difficult. 
Sitting  in  the  dainty  boudoir  of  her  daughter,  she 
was  conscious  she  had  been  repulsed  in  the  first 
attack,  and  with  the  loss  of  some  guns.  Like  the 
prudent  general  she  was,  she  determined  to  with- 
draw  from  the  field  while  she  could  do  so  safely, 
reform  her  lines,  and  with  strengthened  forces  re 
new  the  attack. 

A  wrong  would  be  done  Mrs.  Courtenay  if  she 
were  not  credited  with  an  earnest  desire  to  rescue 
her  daughter  from  a  life  which  she  believed  could 
not  be  other  than  doubtful  and  blameworthy — a 
desire  based  in  sincere  affection.  That  Dorothy 

95 


9<*  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

should  leave  Trescotte  and  endure  a  life  of  seclu 
sion,  simply  because  it  was  right  for  her  to  do  so, 
was  firmly  fixed  in  her  mind,  and  if  she  had  not 
been  successful  in  impressing  that  idea  upon 
Dorothy,  her  daughter  had  been  no  less  unsuccess 
ful  in  enforcing  her  contrary  opinions.  She  felt 
that  the  right  was  with  her  and  that,  if  she  could  not 
make  Dorothy  see  it,  the  bishop  could.  If,  in  her 
arguments,  she  had  mixed  the  moral  with  the 
social  code,  and  had  made  ethics  and  society's 
opinions  interchangeable  terms,  it  was  only  because 
of  her  own  peculiar  education.  But  it  must  be 
admitted  that  she  was  greatly  concerned  as  to  the 
influence  to  be  exerted  upon  her  own  social  stand 
ing  by  the  knowledge  that  one  of  her  daughters 
was,  in  fact,  living  as  a  wife  outside  the  legal  bonds 
of  wedlock;  the  influence  upon  Hilda's  contem 
plated  marriage  with  Waldemar  ;  upon  the  daughter 
who  was  to  come  out  two  years  hence ;  and  upon 
the  son  who  had  graduated  at  Harvard  that  sum 
mer,  and  who  would  enter  society  the  coming 
winter.  Dorothy,  notwithstanding  the  misfortune 
which  had  befallen  her,  in  her  father's  home,  with 
drawn  from  society,  might  be  an  object  of  sym 
pathy,  even  of  avoidance,  but  she  would  not 
be  a  reproach  to  the  family,  which  she  certainly 
would  be  were  she  to  continue  her  relations  with 
Trescotte. 

When  Mrs.  Courtenay  touched  upon  this  phase 
of  the  question  she  made  more  of  an  impression 
upon  Dorothy  than  she  was  aware.  Had  she 


CHANGING   THE    TACTICS.  97 

known  how  much,  doubtless  she  would  have 
dilated  at  length  upon  it,  but  as  it  was,  she  said 
enough  to  send  Dorothy  into  weighing  the  duty  she 
owed  Trescotte  against  that  which  she  owed  her 
family.  And  so  no  conclusion  was  reached  on 
either  side — that  is,  that  was  accepted  by  the  other. 
Mrs.  Courtenay  refused  to  receive  as  conclusive 
Dorothy's  expressed  determination  to  remain  with 
Trescotte,  and  Dorothy  refused  to  accept  as  con 
clusive,  her  mother's  assertion  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  return  to  her  father's  house. 

All  the  time  this  discussion  was  going  forward 
Trescotte  sat  in  the  library  making  futile  efforts  to 
read  the  book  in  his  hands.  His  thoughts  con 
stantly  reverted  to  the  sweet  little  woman  above 
him  going  through  the  ordeal  she  had  so  much 
dreaded,  and  who  was  battling  for  the  right  to  re 
main  in  companionship  with  him.  He  would  gladly 
have  taken  this  burden  upon  his  own  shoulders,  but 
he  knew  that  his  presence  would  but  increase  her 
difficulties,  and  for  the  sake  of  her  own  future 
happiness  with  him,  she  must  battle  to  the  end,  un 
influenced  by  him,  or  by  any  appearance  of  coercion 
on  his  part.  As  sad  and  heart-breaking  as  separa 
tion  would  be  to  him  now,  he  yet  felt  that  if  there 
was  a  lingering  doubt  in  Dorothy's  mind  as  to  the 
course  she  was  pursuing,  and  if  she  could  therefore 
be  swayed  and  influenced  by  the  appeals  now  being 
made  to  her,  it  were  better  for  both  of  them  that 
she  should  yield  now.  If  she  did  not,  and  passed 
through  the  ordeal  yet  firm  and  staunch  in  her 


9§  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

determination,  then  he  himself  would  be  firmer  in 
his  o\vn  purpose.  He  therefore  awaited  the  issue 
most  impatiently. 

Dorothy  had  asked  her  mother  if  she  would  see 
Trescotte,  but  Mrs.  Courtenay  declined,  and  with 
more  bitterness  than  she  had  shown  before  in  the 
interview,  and  took  her  leave  promising  Dorothy 
she  would  see  her  again  in  a  short  time. 

Dorothy,  seeking  her  husband  upon  her  mother's 
departure,  faithfully  reported  the  interview  and  con 
cluded  with  the  opinion : 

"  Now  that  it  is  over  and  the  ordeal  I  dreaded  so 
much  is  passed,  we  may  settle  down  and  live  our 
lives  untroubled." 

But  Trescotte  was  far  from  satisfied  that  the  end 
was  reached.  He  thought  he  knew  Mrs.  Courtenay 
too  well  not  to  know  that,  desiring  an  end,  she 
would  not  abandon  the  desire  after  only  one  at 
tempt.  And  Trescotte  was  right. 

One  thing  had  been  settled  to  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
satisfaction  :  Dorothy's  reason  was  as  firmly  seated 
as  it  ever  had  been.  She  told  her  husband  so,  but 
he  was  loath  to  let  go  his  opinion,  and  urged  that 
Dr.  Balkin  should  be  asked  to  see  his  daughter. 

"Very  well,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "it  will 
do  no  harm  and  something  may  come  from  it.  The 
doctor  is  very  fond  of  Dorothy  and  she  of  him. 
He  may  exert  an  influence  her  father  and  mother 
have  failed  to  do." 

She  had  yielded  to  her  husband's  urgency  the 
more  readily,  because  the  visit  of  Dr.  Balkin  would 


CHANGING   THE    TACTICS.  99 

not  interfere  with  the  plan  she  had  formed  while 
talking  with  Dorothy. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  addressing  her  husband  who 
had  taken  his  hat  and  was  now  searching  for  his 
gloves,  "  put  your  hat  down  and  listen  to  me,  I 
have  something  of  importance  to  say  to  you." 

The  old  gentleman  replaced  his  hat  and  taking  a 
chair  sat  down  opposite  his  wife,  remarking : 

"  To  get  Dorothy  under  treatment  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  is  of  the  first  importance." 

"  Dorothy  is  as  sane  as  you  and  I,"  replied  his 
wife  shortly.  "  And  that  will  be  Dr.  Balkin's  opin 
ion.  What  is  of  the  first  importance  is  to  separate 
Dorothy  and  Trescotte.  And  this  must  be  done 
quietly.  She  will  not  leave  him  of  her  own  motion; 
she  will  not  now  consent  to  leave  him.  We  cannot 
seize  her,  abduct  her,  or  kidnap  her,  nor  can  we 
appeal  to  the  courts  for  her  custody.  All  these 
methods  would  result  in  a  public  scandal,  the  thing 
of  all  things  we  must  avoid.  We  have  failed  in 
pleadings,  persuasions,  and  commands.  Now,  what 
are  we  to  do?" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  don't  know,"  answered  the 
much-perplexed  father. 

"  We  must  go  to  Buffalo,"  said  his  wife  decidedly. 

"  Go  to  Buffalo  ? "  asked  the  old  gentleman,  in 
sudden  doubt  as  to  his  wife's  sanity. 

"  Yes,  to  Buffalo,"  repeated  Mrs.  Courtenay,  much 
pleased  with  the  impression  she  had  made,  and 
the  importance  of  her  communication.  "  Buffalo 
is  the  place  where  that  person  Mr.  Trescotte 


100  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

married  in  Switzerland  resides.  She  is  the  wife  of 
Trescotte." 

"Yes,  most  unfortunately;  for  if  she  were  not, 
Dorothy  would  be,  beyond  dispute." 

"  It  is  her  duty  to  claim  Trescotte  as  her  husband, 
and  insist  upon  a  home  with  him."  Mrs.  Courtcnay 
narrowly  watched  the  effect  of  her  words  upon  her 
husband,  but  he  was  slow  in  comprehending  her 
meaning. 

"  But,  my  dear,  people,  as  we  have  evidence,  do 
not  always  do  their  duty,"  he  answered. 

"  She  is  evidently  a  person  of  very  ordinary  origin, 
and  doubtless  could  be  made  to  see  her  duty  in  the 
proper  light,"  Mrs.  Courtenay  continued. 

"  Possibly,  possibly,"  rejoined  the  old  gentleman, 
very  much  in  the  dark,  but  having  profound  confi 
dence  in  his  wife. 

"  Of  that  grade  which  is  struggling  always  for 
recognition  from  the  upper  classes,  she  undoubtedly 
will  be  very  glad  to  secure  a  husband  of  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte's  rank  in  the  social  scale." 

"  She  did  not  seem  so  very  anxious  eight  or 
nine  years  ago,  when  she  gladly  left  Trescotte  for 
Adams,"  argued  the  husband,  with  a  slight  touch  of 
humor. 

"  She  was  very  young  then,  her  head  doubtless 
filled  with  romance — too  young  to  fully  realize  the 
advantages  of  the  connection  she  had  made.  Be 
sides,  she  is  abandoned  by  that  man  Adams,  or 
did  she  abandon  him  ?  It  is  immaterial ;  they  are 
apart." 


CHANGING   THE    TACTICS.  ioi 

"  Well,  granting  all  this,  what  do  we  secure  by 
it?"  asked  Mr.  Courtenay,  who  had  been  vainly 
striving  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  his  wife. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  your  dullness,  Herbert.  If  she 
makes  that  demand  Trescotte  will  be  compelled  to 
heed  it ;  if  she  demands  maintenance  he  must  give 
it ;  if  she  demands  care  and  protection,  he  must  give 
both.  She  will  be  asking  no  more  than  the  law 
gives  her  the  right  to  ask,  and  he  must  yield." 

"  And  still  I  cannot  see  what  good  that  will  do 
us."  The  old  gentleman  was  still  groping  in  the 
dark. 

"  Why,  Herbert,"  cried  his  wife,  "  I'm  quite  im 
patient  with  you !  Do  you  suppose  that  Dorothy, 
high-spirited  Dorothy,  would  remain  for  one  mo 
ment  with  a  man  who  would  thus  acknowledge  the 
existence  of  another  wife  ?  At  present  she  is  in 
some  incomprehensible,  exalted  condition  of  mind 
that  persuades  her  that  she  is  a  sacrificing  martyr  to 
love  and  duty.  A  woman  having  superior  claims  as 
a  wife,  visibly  present,  would  bring  her  down  from 
heaven  to  earth  most  rapidly,  and  send  her  home 
with  speed." 

"Great  Heavens!"  cried  her  husband,  fairly 
startled  by  the  boldness  and  originality  of  the  plan. 
"  You  would  not  send  her  to  Trescotte's  house  to 
live  there  ?  " 

"  To  take  possession  as  her  right — to  sit  at  the  head 
of  his  table  as  is  her  right." 

The  old  gentleman  was  aghast. 

"  Now,"  continued   Mrs.  Courtenay,  enthusiastic 


102  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM* 

in  her  plan,  "go  to  Mr.  Magrane  at  once.  Get  the 
address  of  these  people,  and  we  will  leave  for 
Buffalo  to-night." 

"  To-night  ?  "  Mr.  Courtenay  stared  in  astonish 
ment  at  his  wife  ;  her  energy  compelled  his  warmest 
admiration. 

"  Yes,  to-night.  We  cannot  afford  to  delay  in  so 
important  a  matter." 

Partaking  of  his  wife's  energy  and  enthusiasm,  the 
old  gentleman  labored  so  zealously  that  the  hour 
which  usually  found  him  dining  leisurely  saw  himself 
and  wife  that  night  rolling  rapidly  toward  that  Queen 
City  sitting  at  the  gate  of  the  Lakes. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PLANS   THAT   FAIL. 

IF,  in  the  contemplation  of  the  plan  she  had 
evolved,  and  which  she  had  traveled  to  Buffalo  to 
execute,  Mrs.  Courtenay  relied  on  the  belief  that 
the  lady,  "  now  known  as  Mrs.  Adams,"  to  use  Mr. 
Magrane's  phrase,  would  be  open  to  the  blandish 
ments  of  the  elegancies  and  luxuries  of  life,  fine 
houses,  and  all  the  other  things  concomitant  of 
wealth,  she  must  have  sustained  a  severe  shock  of 
surprise  when  she  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Hallock 
residence. 

As  she  was  driven  up  that  noble  thoroughfare — 
one  of  the  finest  in  all  the  States  —  Delaware 
Avenue,  she  had  noted  with  wonder,  and  with  that 
resentment  we  cockneys  of  New  York  are  prone 
to  feel  when  we  see  evidences  of  wealth  and 
fashion  elsewhere  than  in  our  own  city,  the  many 
fine  residences  with  spacious  and  well-kept  grounds 
about  them.  But  when  the  horses  were  suddenly 
swung  from  the  street  to  a  broad  graveled 
road  which  wound  through  extensive  grounds, 
embracing  the  entire  square,  in  the  center  of  which 
stood  a  building  of  pretentious  architecture  and 
imposing  dimensions,  with  wide  verandas,  porte 

103 


104  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

cocktre,  spacious  conservatories,  the  mere  occupancy 
of  which  argued  ample  means,  a  large  doubt  as  to 
the  success  of  her  enterprise  took  possession  of  her. 
She  comforted  herself,  however,  as  she  rang  the 
bell,  with  the  thought  that  wealth  was  not  always, 
especially  in  these  new  cities,  the  assurance  of  social 
position  and  fine  feeling. 

If,  as  Mrs.  Courtenay  supposed,  the  Hallock 
family  did  not  possess  social  position,  it  certainly 
had  knowledge  of  those  who  did,  for  Mrs.  Her 
bert  Courtenay's  card  was  recognized  as  that  of  one 
of  society's  brightest  lights,  and  carried  much  won 
derment  as  to  the  meaning  of  its  presentation. 
Since  the  daughter  of  that  house  had,  for  a  brief 
period,  borne  the  name  of  the  gentleman  who  was 
now  the  son-in-law  of  the  lady  presenting  the  card, 
perhaps  after  all  it  is  not  singular  that  it  was 
quickly  recognized. 

Mrs.  Courtenay,  sitting  in  the  large  reception 
room,  admitting  its  superiority  to  her  own,  noting 
with  critical  eye  the  undoubted  evidence  of  a  keen 
and  discriminating  taste  in  its  adornment,  and  argu 
ing,  thereupon,  the  possession  of  that  quality  by  the 
inmates,  thought  that  if  she  were  not  within  and 
her  husband  without,  in  the  carriage  at  the  door, 
she  would  gladly  retire  from  an  enterprise  which, 
the  further  she  entered  into  it,  seemed  more  and 
more  doubtful.  By  and  by  there  came  to  her  a 
young  woman  not  yet  out  of  her  twenties,  appro 
priately  and  becomingly  gowned,  of  winning  pres 
ence,  on  whose  face  there  were  traces  of  trouble — 


PLANS    THAT  FAIL.  105 

trouble  that  had  chastened  and  refined,  not  hardened 
it.  In  a  low  and  gentle  tone  she  said  in  simple 
salutation  : 

"Mrs.  Courtenay?" 

"  Mrs.  Adams,  I  presume,"  replied  Mrs.  Courte 
nay,  rising. 

As  the  younger  lady  begged  the  older  one  to 
remain  seated  she  took  another  chair  herself.  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  to  her  extreme  annoyance,  felt  embar 
rassed.  This  young  woman  was  guilty  of  the  bad 
taste  of  being  diametrically  the  opposite  of  what 
Mrs.  Courtenay  had  determined  she  was.  Instead 
of  being  loud  and  aggressive,  she  was  gentle  and 
retiring;  instead  of  possessing  a  flaunting  and  flam 
boyant  handsomeness,  her  beauty  was  delicate  and 
refined ;  instead  of  being  a  vulgar  young  person, 
she  was  ladylike,  self-contained  and  self-possessed. 
Mrs.  Courtenay's  premises  were  all  wrong;  but  she 
was  in  for  it,  and  she  went  at  her  business  much  as 
Taurus  goes  at  a  red  gate. 

"  I  have  come  to  you,"  she  began,  "  on  a  matter 
deeply  concerning  our  two  families." 

This  coupling  of  the  known  Courtenay  family 
with  the  unascertained  Hallock  family  was 
intended  to  be  conciliatory,  but  the  air  and  tone 
of  condescension  spoiled  the  effect. 

"  Yes  ? "  inquiringly  replied  the  younger  lady, 
intuitively  feeling  that  the  five  months  as  Mrs. 
Trescotte,  which  had  spoiled  her  domestic  peace, 
was  the  matter. 

"  You  may  not  be  aware,"  continued  Mrs.  Courte- 


106  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM'? 

nay  very  graciously,  "  that  last  April  my  eldest 
daughter  married  Mr.  Henry  Trescotte?" 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Adams  replied  readily,  "  I  knew  of  it 
at  the  time.  Surely,"  she  suddenly  asked,  "  Mr. 
Trescotte  did  not  fail  to  acquaint  you  at  the  time 
of  the  other  marriage  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Trescotte,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  severely, 
impelled  by  a  stern  sense  of  justice,  "informed  my 
husband  and  my  daughter  before  the  engagement, 
and  produced  documents  signed  by  you,  Mr. 
Adams,  your  father,  and  mother,  to  the  end  that 
there  was  a  previous  marriage  of  yourself,  but 
claiming  it  to  be  invalid." 

The  younger  woman,  with  heightened  color,  arose, 
threw  open  a  window,  and  handing  a  fan  to  the 
older  one,  returned  to  her  seat,  saying :  "  It  is  only 
what  I  would  expect  of  so  honorable  a  gentleman 
as  Mr.  Trescotte." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  inferred  from  this  remark  that 
Mr.  Trescotte  was  not  regarded  with  enmity  by 
Mrs.  Adams,  but  rather  held  in  respect.  She  hesi 
tated  to  think  what  bearing  this  might  have  upon 
her  intended  proposition.  Arriving  at  no  conclu 
sion  she  went  on : 

"  May  I  ask — I  do  not  mean  to  give  offense — 
when  did  you  last  see  Mr.  Adams?" 

Mrs.  Adams,  quickly  suppressing  the  start  the 
abrupt  question  caused,  the  color  on  her  cheeks 
deepening,  answered: 

"  A  year  ago,  nearly ;  Mr.  Adams  has  been  on 
the  Pacific  Coast  on  professional  business."  Then. 


PLANS    THA  T  FAIL.  1OJ 

with  some  hesitation,  she  added  :  "  I  shall  not  con 
ceal  from  you  that  we  are  living  apart.  The  fact, 
however,  is  not  public.  The  world  thinks  I  am  at 
my  father's  house  during  my  husband's  absence." 

"  I  had  so  understood,"  remarked  the  elder  lady 
dryly. 

Mrs.  Adams  looked  up  surprised,  pain  plainly 
visible. 

"  You  had  so  understood  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  The  knowledge  is  not  general,"  Mrs.  Courtenay 
hastened  to  assure  the  young  lady.  "  It  was  com 
municated  to  us  by  our  lawyer,  who  is  also  the 
lawyer  of  Mr=  Adams." 

"  Lawyer  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Adams,  much  agitated. 
There  was  so  much  that  was  pathetic  in  her  appeal 
to  her  visitor,  that  the  older  lady  felt  a  wave  of 
sympathy  sweep  over  her,  though  she  had  been 
so  disappointed. 

"  Mr.  Adams  does  not  intend  to  sue  for  divorce? 
Oh,  the  shame  of  it !  " 

The  wave  of  sympathy  was  transitory  and  the 
older  lady  relentlessly  pursued  her  point. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  divorce  proceedings." 

"  No  need  ? "  wonderingly  asked  Mrs.  Adams. 
"  I  do  not  comprehend  you." 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adams,  I  do  not  want 
to  shock  you  too  much,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
dreading  to  reveal  the  fact,  yet  anxious  to  get  it 
over  that  she  might  come  to  the  point  which  was 
her  concern.  "  I  beg,  my  dear,  you  will  prepare 
yourself  for  a  revelation — which,  while  it  may  dis- 


108  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

tress  you,  is  by  no  means  as  bad  as  it  will  at  first 
appear.     You  know  that  every  cloud  has  a  -- 

"  Mrs.  Courtenay,"  cried  the  poor  little  distressed 
woman,  "  do  have  mercy    and    tell  me    what  you 


mean 


Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  thought  she  was  approach 
ing  the  subject  with  rare  delicacy,  was  displeased 
that  she  should  be  hastened,  and  said  abruptly  : 

"  Mr.  Adams  discovered  some  eight  or  nine 
months  ago  that  the  marriage  of  yourself  to  him 
was  not  valid  —  that  the  magistrate  who  performed 
the  ceremony  had  no  authority." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  regretted  her  abruptness  when 
she  saw  the  young  woman  fall  back  in  her  chair. 
She  thought  that  Mrs.  Adams  had  fainted  and  she 
sprang  up  to  call  assistance,  but  the  young  woman 
by  a  plainly  evident  effort  regained  possession  of 
herself  and,  rising  from  her  seat,  crossed  the  room 
and  closed  the  doors. 

"  I  have  had  so  much  trouble  in  my  short  life  —  I 
have  been  so  unhappy,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  that 
a  little  more  cannot  make  much  difference." 

She  came  back  to  her  chair  and  leaned  on  its 
back. 

"  So  I  was  not  married  to  George,  after  all,"  she 
mused,  oblivious  to  the  presence  of  the  high-born 
dame  of  society,  and  the  world,  and  the  fashion, 
"  I  have  always  feared  that  it  was  so.  It  did  not 
seem  like  a  marriage  ceremony.  I  have  lived  with 
him  eight  years,  the  mother  of  three  children  —  a 
mother  and  yet  not  a  wife  !  " 


PLANS   THA  T  FAIL.  109 

*'  But  you  are  a  wife  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay 
eagerly.  The  iron  was  now  hot  and  she  would 
hammer  it. 

The  young  woman,  aroused  by  the  eager  exclama 
tion,  turned  a  bewildered  face  upon  her  visitor. 

"  The  marriage  with  Mr.  Adams  not  being  valid, 
your  subsequent  one  was,  and  you  are  in  truth  and 
in  fact  Mrs.  Henry  Trescotte!  " 

If  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  ambitious  of  dramatic 
effect  she  secured  it.  Mrs.  Adams  stared  stupidly 
at  her  for  a  moment,  reeled,  nearly  fell,  and  finally 
slipped  down  into  her  chair  overcome.  She  waved 
away,  however,  the  proffered  assistance  of  the  older 
lady,  and  bracing  her  back  against  her  chair,  her 
hands  tightly  clutching  the  arms  of  it,  tried  to  grasp 
the  tangle  in  which  she  was  involved.  Mrs.  Courte 
nay,  fearful  lest  she  should  not  grasp  the  essential 
fact  that  she  was  Mrs.  Trescotte,  repeated  the  state 
ment  in  various  forms.  But  Mrs.  Adams  did  not 
heed  her;  she  was  trying  to  think  her  way  out  of  the 
confusion  of  her  life.  Suddenly  an  idea,  clear  and 
distinct,  presented  itself.  "  Then  your  daughter  is 
not  Mrs.  Trescotte,"  she  said  almost  sharply,  turn 
ing  upon  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"  That  fact  is  what  has  brought  me  to  you." 

Filled  as  she  was  with  her  own  woes,  yet  she  had 
room  for  sympathy  for  those  of  others.  She  rose, 
and  going  to  the  older  woman,  took  the  hand  of 
Mrs.  Courtenay  in  her  own,  and  bending  over  her, 
whispered,  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  so  sorry  for  her. 
I  will  do  whatever  I  can  to  help  her." 


1*0  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"She  has  your  place,"  returned  the  other;  "she 
is  occupying  your  rights." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  patter  of  running 
feet  and  the  cry  of  "  Mamma."  The  doors  burst 
open  and  a  handsome  lad,  dark-eyed  and  curly 
headed,  ran  in.  He  stopped  abashed  on  seeing  a 
stranger,  and  then  shyly  took  the  hand  his  mother 
held  out  to  him. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  stared  at  him  with  wide  open 
eyes.  The  boy  was  Trescotte  at  that  age  over 
again,  as  she  had  known  him  when  his  mother  was 
her  most  intimate  friend. 

"  Is  that  your  firstborn,"  she  asked. 

"  My  firstborn,"  replied  the  mother,  looking  down 
sadly  yet  tenderly  upon  the  lad  who  lifted  Tres- 
cotte's  eyes  to  his  mother. 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  decidedly,  "  the 
more  reason  why  you  should  claim  your  rights  as 
Henry  Trescotte's  wife  and  take  possession  of 
them." 

Mrs.  Adams  was  confounded.  She  could  not 
understand  the  other's  words.  She  had  supposed 
that  the  visit  of  Dorothy's  mother  was  to  plead 
with  her  in  her  daughter's  interest,  but  she  could 
not  understand  this  urgency  to  put  forward  her 
claims  as  Trescotte's  wife.  She  said  so  to  the  elder 
lady. 

"  Look  at  that  child,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  bears 
the  proof  of  his  paternity  on  his  face." 

The  old,  old  trouble  ;  the  same  charge  ;  the  same 
difficulty  which  had  wrecked  her  married  life.  She 


PLANS   THAT  FAIL.  Ill 

wound  her  arms  about  the  handsome  lad  as  if  she 
would  protect  him  from  the  blows  she  had  received, 
and  was  receiving  again. 

"  Look  at  the  child,"  repeated  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
"  and  tell  me  if  your  duty  is  not  to  give  him  the 
father  who  is  his  father." 

"  I  will  not  admit  it,"  cried  the  harrowed  mother, 
"  and  if  it  is  true,  there  are  two  others  which  are 
not  his." 

This  statement  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  not  prepared 
for,  and  she  had  not  an  answer  ready.  But  Mrs. 
Adams  awoke  to  the  singular  attitude  of  her  visitor. 
She  knew  that  interest  in  her  did  not  dictate  it. 

"  Your  daughter  is  living  now  with  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte  ?  "  she  suddenly  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"  Does  she  love  Mr.  Trescotte?" 

"  Very  deeply." 

"  Does  Mr.  Trescotte  love  her?" 

"  Unquestionably."  Mrs.  Courtenay  thought  if 
jealousy  could  be  excited  her  purpose  would  be 
served. 

"  They  are  happy  together  ?  " 

"  They  profess  to  be." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  to  me?" 

"  Because  the  place  she  is  occupying  is  yours." 

"  You  are  not  frank.     You  want  to  separate  them." 

Mrs.  Courtenay,  confused  by  the  sudden  conclu 
sion,  admitted  it. 

"  Since  she  is  not  the  wife  of  Mr.  Trescotte/'  she 
said,  "  her  place  is  at  home  with  me." 


112  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

The  purpose  of  her  visitor  was  revealed.  In  a 
great  rush  of  thought  the  young  mother  saw  every 
thing  bearing  on  the  subject  as  with  a  single  glance. 
She  was  indignant. 

"  I  see,  I  see !  "  she  cried.  "  In  order  to  gain  your 
own  end  you  would  use  me.  You  want  me  to  des 
troy  his  happiness  and  increase  his  misery.  I  see  it 
all  now.  She  refuses  to  leave  him,  he  refuses  to  let 
her  go.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  very  plain  now.  And  you 
would  use  me  to  force  them  apart.  Well,  then, 
I  refuse.  Whatever  trouble  Mr.  Trescotte  is  in  now, 
is  the  result  of  a  chivalrous  effort  to  protect  me  from 
the  consequences  of  a  wild  caprice  of  a  madcap  girl. 
I  respect  Mr.  Trescotte — honor  him  for  his  own  high 
honor.  I  will  do  nothing  whatever  to  distress  him. 
I  will  never,  never  claim  him  for  a  husband.  Look 
you  !  I  have  lived  eight  years  with  another  man. 
I  love  that  man  !  " 

"  But  you  are  not  married  to  him  ;  you  are,  to  Mr. 
Trescotte,"  persisted  Mrs.  Courtenay,  growing  angry 
as  she  saw  her  carefully  constructed  plan  dissolving 
into  thin  air. 

"  Ah,  there  are  laws  superior  to  those  of  man, 
which  man  cannot  alter  or  repeal — higher  laws." 

"  Consider  Mr.  Trescotte's  position,  his  wealth 
and  social  station,  and  what  he  can  do  for  your  boy? 
You  say  you  respect  him " 

"  Mrs.  Courtenay,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Adams,  her  voice 
swelling  with  indignation.  "  Look  about  you. 
Here  are  the  evidences  of  wealth  and  luxury  greater 
than  Mr.  Trescotte  can  possess.  I  am  accustomed 


PLANS   THAT  FAIL.  113 

to  them.  Social  position  ?  What  is  it  ?  Recogni 
tion  by  and  companionship  with  a  few  people  who 
think  themselves  superior  to  others  no  less  refined  or 
cultivated  than  themselves.  But  enough  ;  I  refuse 
to  discuss  it.  My  position  is  hard,  but  I  will  not 
increase  its  bitterness  with  the  consciousness  that 
I  have  done  aught  to  increase  the  distress  of  a 
gallant  gentleman,  who  once  sacrificed  himself  to 
save  my  honor." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  listened  to  this  with  rising  choler. 
She  had  felt  from  the  beginning  of  her  visit  that  she 
was  in  a  false  position,  and  now  to  hear  her  darling 
class  flouted  as  if  of  no  importance,  and  her  propo 
sition  denounced  as  little  less  than  dishonorable, 
was  more  than  she  could  endure. 

"  You  seem  to  forget,"  she  said  with  an  unmis 
takable  sneer,  "  that  dishonor  is  in  the  name  of 
Adams,  and  escape  from  it  in  the  name  of  Tres- 
cotte  !  " 

"And  you,  madame,"  replied  the  other  with  gentle 
dignity, "  forget  that  I  am  in  my  own  house,  hostess 
to  you." 

To  receive  a  lesson  in  good  manners  was  not 
the  purpose  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's  visit  to  Buffalo, 
Very  uncomfortable,  she  took  her  leave  with  the 
remark  that  she  regretted  that  Mrs.  Adams  did 
not  see  her  duty  in  the  light  others  must. 

The  interview  was  so  trying  to  her  nerves  that 
Mr.  Courtenay  found  the  next  half  hour  very  trying 
to  him.  During  the  course  of  this  half  hour  Mrs. 
Courtenay  informed  her  husband  that  she  found 


114  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  L&FT  HIM? 

Mrs.    Adams    to   be    a   very   ill-bred    person    with 
shadowy  notions  of  honor  and  morality. 

Now,  I  submit  that  Mrs.  Adams,  who  has  always 
been  rather  a  favorite  of  mine,  was  not — but  there, 
of  course  if  Mrs.  Courtenay,  the  leader  of  the  most 
exclusive  sept  of  the  most  exclusive  society  of  our 
city  said  it  was  so,  why  it  does  not  become  me  to 
combat  it. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  BISHOP  TO  THE   RESCUE. 

MRS.  COURTENAY,  much  crestfallen,  returned  to 
New  York.  There  was  abroad  such  laxity  of  morals 
and  loose  disregard  of  obligations  and  honor,  espe 
cially  duty  to  society,  that  she  was  quite  disgusted. 
What  was  the  world  coming  to,  if  legally  wedded 
wives  declined  to  insist  upon  residence  with  their 
husbands,  and  laughed,  as  it  were,  at  the  superior 
advantages  of  society  ?  Really,  she  would  have  to 
believe  the  statements  of  the  vulgar  dailies  about  the 
spread  of  socialistic,  communistic,  and  anarchical 
ideas,  which  she  had  always  supposed  to  be  the  mere 
vaporings  of  sensation  mongers.  After  the  experi 
ence  of  the  past  two  days  she  was  ready  to  believe 
anything.  Here  was  her  own  daughter  flying  in 
the  face  of  all  settled  principles,  and  actually  assert 
ing  that  her  first  duty  was  to  secure  her  own  happi 
ness,  regardless  of  all  other  things.  And  she  was 
aided  and  abetted  by  Trescotte,  whose  breeding  and 
traditions  were  no  less  immaculate.  She  might 
think  that  some  dreadful  heresy  had  crept  into  her 
own  special  order,  and  it  alone,  had  she  not  found 
the  same  eccentricity  in  a  lower  class. 

Put  disgusted  as  she  was,  and  as  well  disappointed 


Il6  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

in  the  failure  of  the  plan  which  had  taken  her 
across  the  State,  yet  was  her  determination  firm  to 
rescue  Dorothy  from  the  false  position  she  was  in, 
if  not  for  Dorothy's  sake  alone,  then  for  that  of  the 
younger  members  of  her  family,  whose  futures  were 
yet  to  be  made.  But  how?  Appeals  to  her 
daughter  were  useless ;  Mrs.  Adams  refused  to 
interfere.  Would  she  have  to  adopt  her  husband's 
theory,  that  Dorothy's  mind  was  unsettled  ?  It 
really  began  to  look  so.  Could  she  only  separate 
Dorothy  from  Trescotte  on  any  pretext,  and  sur 
round  her  with  the  proper  moral  atmosphere,  she 
was  quite  certain  she  could  make  the  separation 
permanent. 

But  Dr.  Balkin,  for  whom  she  sent  as  soon  after 
her  return  from  Buffalo  as  she  could,  disposed  of 
that  idea. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Courtenay,"  said  that  physician  with 
his  customary  frankness,  "  if  Dorothy  is  insane,  it  is 
a  pity  we  all  could  not  be  touched  with  the  same 
complaint.  No  one  could  be  clearer-minded.  She 
has  wonderfully  developed.  Her  troubles  have 
strengthened  her  mind,  not  weakened  it.  Her 
health  is  superb.  No  physician  or  specialist  having 
the  slightest  regard  for  his  oath  or  his  reputation 
would  dare  to  do  other  than  testify  to  her  sanity." 

"  Do  I  understand  you,  doctor,  to  say  that  you 
justify  Dorothy  in  the  stand  she  has  taken,"  asked 
the  lady,  not  a  little  vexed  by  the  doctor's  decision 
of  manner. 

"That  is  a  horse  of  another  color,"  replied  the 


THE  BISHOP    TO    THE  RESCUE.  II? 

doctor,  using  one  of  those  phrases  that  always 
jarred  on  Mrs.  Courtenay,  notwithstanding  the 
respect  she  entertained  for  him.  "  The  sanity,  not 
the  morality,  of  Dorothy  is  under  question." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  would  like  to  have  retorted  that 
one  could  not  exist  in  Dorothy  without  the  other, 
but  refrained,  because  the  doctor  always  insisted  on 
combating  what  he  called  error  on  the  spot. 

"  But  on  that  head,"  said  he,  looking  at  his  watch 
to  see  if  he  had  time  to  devote  to  the  discussion, 
"  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  Dorothy  presents  argu 
ments  you  cannot  answer  satisfactorily  to  yourself. 
Of  course,  you  can  fall  back  on  the  truism  that  one 
should  always  do  right  for  right's  sake,  irrespective 
of  all  other  considerations.  But,  you  see,  Dorothy 
insists  that  she  is  doing  right,  She  says  that 
organized  society  in  establishing  the  principle  of 
monogamous  marriages  has  builded  so  badly  that, 
through  its  defects,  the  condition  in  which  she  and 
Trescotte  find  themselves  is  made  possible,  and  she 
wants  to  know  if,  because  of  those  defects,  they  are 
to  be  disgraced  and  punished  ?  Upon  my  word,  the 
answer  is  difficult.  You  see  organized  society  says: 
Monogamous  marriages  are  right ;  if  you  will  accept 
the  principle,  we  will  guarantee  to  you  protection 
in  the  enjoyment  of  your  wife  or  husband,  as  the 
case  may  be ;  the  control  of  your  children ;  the 
possession  of  your  property  ;  and  its  succession  as 
you  desire  it.  It  is  a  contract.  Well,  these  two 
young  people  of  ours  enter  into  this  contract  with 
organized  society  and  what  do  they  find  ?  Society 


II 8  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

isn't  able  to  carry  out  its  part  of  the  contract. 
Society  has  slipped  a  cog.  What  is  the  result?  By 
Jove,  Trescotte  turns  up  with  two  women,  both  of 
whom  bear  the  relation  of  wives  to  him  ;  Dorothy 
is  wedded  without  a  husband  ;  Adams  is  wedded 
without  a  wife ;  children  with  one  mother  and 
different  fathers  ;  everybody  innocent  except  the 
scamp  of  a  civil  magistrate — society's  agent,  who 
was  removed  by  another  of  society's  agents,  having 
superior  power,  during  his  term  of  office,  and  who 
exercised  a  function  of  power  after  that  power 
has  ceased  to  exist.  Now  asks  Dorothy  :  Society's 
machinery  having  failed,  and  brought  about  this  con 
dition  of  things,  why  should  she,  because  of  this 
failure  to  which  she  in  no  way  contributed,  be 
punished  with  condemnation,  ostracism,  and  separa 
tion  ;  why  should  that  child,  yet  unborn,  be  deprived 
of  the  care  and  protection  of  its  father,  the  natural 
and  proper  guardian  ?  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay,  a  better  head  than  mine  must  answer  her,  I 
can't." 

"  But,"  argued  Mrs.  Courtenay,  highly  displeased, 
wondering  that  she  had  never  noticed  the  vulgarity 
of  the  doctor  before,  "having  discovered  this  defect 
with  all  its  unhappy  consequences,  what  right  has 
Dorothy  to  live  with  a  man  who  is  another  woman's 
husband?" 

"  There  you  are,"  cried  the  doctor,  jumping  from 
his  seat,  very  much  in  earnest  and  pacing  up  and 
down  the  floor,  making  Mrs.  Courtenay  so  warm 
that  she  was  compelled  to  ask  him  for  the  fan  lying 


THE  BISHOP    TO    THE  RESCUE.  1*9 

on  the  table.  "  There  you  are.  That  is  where 
Dorothy  fairly  takes  your  breath  away  with  her 
argument.  She  says  practically,  not  in  so  many 
words,  but  to  the  same  effect,  that  society,  organized 
society,  you  know — the  state,  the  law — having  failed 
in  its  part  of  the  contract  in  the  marriage  of  Adams 
and  that  other  woman,  it  cannot  calmly  disregard 
its  failure,  and  insist  upon  the  stability  of  the  second 
because  the  first  failed  through  the  defects  of  its 
own  machinery.  Therefore,  the  marriage  of  herself, 
sanctioned  by  both  church  and  law,  must  stand.  In 
other  words,  society  having  made  one  failure  must 
stand  upon  and  end  on  that  failure,  and  not  go  for 
ward  and  make  another  failure  in  an  attempt  to 
repair  the  first." 

"It  is  too  finely  drawn  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay,  fanning  herself  vigorously. 

"  It  is  the  idea  of  intent  she  is  getting  at,"  inter- 
preted  the  doctor,  still  very  earnest.  "  Adams  and 
the  Hallock  girl  intended  to  get  married ;  the 
state — organized  society — intended  to  marry  them. 
They  thought  they  were  married.  Now,  says 
Dorothy,  the  mere  fact  that  the  machinery  of  the 
state,  provided  by  itself,  broke  down  does  not 
destroy  the  intent  of  these  people.  You  say,  per 
haps,  that  Trescotte  intended  also  to  marry  the 
Hallock  girl,  but  it  was  an  intent  based  upon  the 
belief  that  she  was  an  unwedded  girl.  The  basis  of 
the  intent  being  false  the  intent  does  not  exist. 
The  girl  intended  to  marry  Trescotte,  but  she  was 
falsely  persuaded  that  she  was  not  bound  by  the 


120  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

first  marriage,  and  away  goes  her  intent.  And  all 
this  is  granted  when  Adams  is  permitted  to  take 
repossession  of  the  girl.  Now,  says  Dorothy,  it  is 
not  good  sense  nor  good  morals  to  change  condi 
tions  existing  eight  years,  because  eight  years  after 
their  establishment  a  defect  in  society's  machinery 
is  discovered." 

"  But  will  the  world  follow  this  extraordinary  and 
very  finely  spun  reasoning?"  sneered  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay,  out  of  all  patience  with  the  doctor  that  he 
should  see  anything  in  Dorothy's  fanciful  logic. 

"  Possibly  not,"  promptly  returned  the  doctor. 
"  The  world  is  very  ignorant  and  very  obstinate." 
Then,  as  if  thinking  aloud,  he  added  :  "  There  are  no 
conflicts  of  interest.  Mrs.  Adams  does  not  want  to 
go  to  Trescotte ;  Trescotte  does  not  want  her. 
Trescotte  does  not  want  Dorothy  to  leave  him ; 
Dorothy  does  not  want  to  leave  Trescotte.  All 
there  is  of  it  is,  that  Dorothy's  people  want  to  take 
her  home." 

"  And  is  not  that  what  you  would  want  to  do  if 
one  of  your  daughters  was  in  a  similar  position?" 
asked  Mrs.  Courtenay.  bridling  up  quickly  in  her 
own  defense. 

"  Yes,"  readily  replied  the  doctor.  "Just  what  I 
would  want  to  do,  for  I  am  as  much  afraid  of  that 
great  big  bugaboo,  society,  and  the  world,  as  you  are. 
But  let  us  get  back  to  business,"  he  added  as  he 
took  his  hat  and  gloves  and  picked  up  his  cane. 
"  Dismiss  all  idea  of  Dorothy's  insanity.  You  will 
only  get  into  trouble  if  you  pursue  the  idea  further." 


THE  BISHOP    TO    THE  RESCUE.  121 

And  the  doctor  went  his  way,  leaving  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  with  a  feeling  of  utter  helplessness.  She  was 
forced  to  confess  that  she  had  been  defeated  in 
every  effort  to  take  Dorothy  from  Trescotte  by 
methods  that  were  not  public.  She  thought,  and 
with  satisfaction,  that  as  yet  knowledge  of  the  affair 
was  confined  to  a  small  circle — a  few  friends  who 
would  not  talk.  And  it  was  clear  that  before  the 
knowledge  crept  out  she  must  forward  Hilda's  wed 
ding  with  all  possible  speed.  It  was  to  occur  in 
October,  but  the  date  was  not  definitely  fixed. 
That  she  must  attend  to  as  soon  as  Waldemar 
returned  from  Saratoga,  by  which  time  she  hoped 
to  bring  about  such  complications  as  would  prevent 
the  possibility  of  a  rupture.  In  the  meantime  she 
did  not  know  but  that  it  would  be  the  better  plan, 
since  Dorothy  would  not  leave  Trescotte  willingly, 
to  devote  her  energies  to  keeping  the  truth  a  secret 
until  after  Hilda's  wedding  at  least.  The  thought 
flashed  over  her  mind  that  such  plan  would  be  a  com 
promise  with  duty,  and  that  involved  in  it  would  be 
the  necessity  of  a  seeming  acquiescence  in  the  relation 
Dorothy  was  maintaining.  This  troubled  her.  She 
could  not  discuss  the  question  with  her  husband. 
If  it  were  one  relating  to  property,  the  organization 
of  a  stable,  or  the  proper  arrangement  of  a  dinner, 
his  advice  would  be  of  weight ;  but  in  this  matter 
of  a  daughter  who  was  married  and  yet  not  married, 
a  wife  and  yet  not  a  wife,  he  would  be  beyond 
his  depth,  and  would  suggest  nothing  better  than 
insanity. 


122  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

A  happy  thought  struck  her.  The  bishop  was 
in  town.  She  would  call  upon  him.  Ordering  a 
carriage  she  was  driven  to  the  episcopal  residence. 
She  found  the  prelate  in,  and  to  him  unfolded  her 
woes.  He  was  distressed,  as  a  shepherd  naturally 
would  be  when  he  heard  that  one  of  the  lambs  of 
his  flock  was  so  involved.  He  proposed  that  he 
should  go  to  Dorothy  at  once,  and  under  the  mantle 
of  his  spiritual  authority  instruct  her  as  to  the  course 
she  should  pursue,  which,  of  course,  was  in  the  direc 
tion  in  which  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  been  laboring. 

While  the  good  lady  was  willing,  indeed  anxious, 
that  he  should  do  so,  still  she  was  doubtful  as  to  the 
outcome.  What  she  wanted  at  that  time  was  to 
be  advised  as  to  her  own  duty.  For  the  sake  of  the 
great  ends  to  be  gained,  could  she  give  a  seeming 
acquiesence  to  Dorothy's  relations  for  a  time? 

Perhaps  it  was  not  flattering  to  the  great  lady, 
but  the  bishop's  mind  was  more  on  Dorothy's  posi 
tion  than  that  of  her  mother's.  He  required  the 
story  to  be  told  him  again,  stopping  its  recital  from 
time  to  time  to  inquire  into  points  that  were  not 
plain.  Finally,  when  he  had  the  whole  story  in  all 
its  details,  he  paced  up  and  down  his  study  in  deep 
thought,  the  while  Mrs.  Courtenay  waited  patiently. 

"  It  is  very  distressing,"  he  said,  emerging  from 
his  thought.  "  I  cannot  see  that  Mr.  Trescotte  or 
Dorothy  are  in  any  way  to  blame,  until,  learning  the 
truth,  they  determined  to  continue  to  live  together. 
There  is  one  view  of  this  question  which  does  not 
$eem  to  have  been  considered  by  anyone  of  all  those 


THE  BISHOP    TO    THE  RESCUE.  123 

you  have  consulted.  I  am  somewhat  astonished 
someone  has  not  seen  it — that  it  was  left  for  me  to 
suggest  it — me,  a  churchman.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  marriage  by  civil  contract.  The  Church  holds 
marriage  to  be  a  holy  sacrament,  and  abhors  the 
civil  marriage.  But  the  law  not  only  recognizes  it, 
but  provides  for  it  by  vesting  authority  to  perform 
it  in  civil  magistrates.  It  was  this  sort  of  a  mar 
riage  that  the  man  Adams  and  the  woman  Hallock 
thought  they  had  made.  Now,  if  I  am  not  mis 
taken,  the  law  in  this  State  is  still  more  liberal.  The 
mere  standing  up  publicly  of  the  man  and  woman, 
each  declaring  before  a  witness  that  they  propose 
to  live  together  as  man  and  wife,  constitutes  a  valid 
marriage — a  common  law  marriage,  I  believe  they 
call  it." 

Mrs.  Courtenay,  inclining  her  head  in  token  of 
her  comprehension  of  the  bishop's  remarks,  thought 
it  was  a  very  common  marriage  indeed. 

"Now,"  continued  the  bishop,  "it  is  quite  among 
the  possibilities  that  the  mere  fact  of  Adams  and 
this  woman  standing  before  a  witness — this  magis 
trate — and  declaring  their  intentions  to  live  as  man 
and  wife,  may  be  interpreted  as  being  a  common 
law  marriage,  and  if  it  were,  the  position  of  Tres- 
cotte  and  Dorothy  would  be  much  simplified." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  was  delighted,  and  filled  anew 
with  admiration  for  the  bishop,  who,  she  had  always 
declared,  was  the  most  delightful  man  of  her 
acquaintance. 

"Of  course,"  continued  the  bishop,  il a  competent 


124  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

lawyer  will  advise  you.  I  don't  know  just  what 
would  be  necessary  to  establish  the  fact.  Perhaps 
a  divorce  suit  upon  the  part  of  somebody.  But 
here  I  must  stop,  for  embarrassment  begins.  I 
cannot  and  will  not  advise  you  as  to  this,  because  my 
sacerdotal  office  forbids  me.  All  I  can  do  is  to  sug 
gest  the  reference  of  the  question  to  competent 
counsel.  But  I  will  go  to  Dorothy.  She  will  not 
refuse  to  talk  to  me,  who  has  baptized,  confirmed, 
and  married  her." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  left  the  bishop  with  a  light  heart. 
She  was  more  than  ever  convinced  of  the  "comforts 
of  religion  "  ;  and  without  waiting  to  consult  her 
husband  was  driven  downtown,  to  the  office  of  Mr. 
Magrane. 

The  bishop  did  go,  and  without  delay,  to 
Dorothy.  Moreover  he  met  Trescotte.  The  call 
was  exceedingly  pleasant  to  all  concerned,  though 
the  bishop  did  set  forth  their  duty  as  he  saw  it,  but 
as  they  did  not,  and  as  they  frankly  told  him.  But 
everybody  was  very  polite.  Dorothy  was  really 
glad  to  see  the  bishop  and  made  him  feel  that  she 
was.  But  pleased  as  he  was,  he  left  them  with  little 
belief  in  the  efficacy  of  his  own  law,  and  much  faith 
in  that  which  he  was  certain  Mrs.  Courtenay  had 
left  him  to  invoke. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LAW  SUPPORTS  THE  CHURCH. 

WHEN  the  bishop's  suggestion  was  put  before 
Mr.  Magrane,  that  gentleman  thought  possibly 
there  was  something  in  it.  He  wondered  why  it 
had  not  occurred  to  him.  Yet  he  saw  great  diffi 
culties  in  establishing  the  fact.  A  judicial  deter 
mination  could  only  be  reached  through  a  suit  at 
law.  And  who  would  bring  it  ?  If  Trescotte  and 
Dorothy  would  sue  each  other  for  divorce  perhaps 
the  validity  of  the  Adams-Hallock  marriage  could 
be  brought  in  and  determined,  but  if  they  were 
willing  to  proceed  to  such  extraordinary  means  to 
establish  the  validity  of  their  own  marriage,  the 
result  must  be  that  a  huge  scandal  would  be  spread 
out  for  the  public  delectation,  involving  the  sacred 
Courtenay  family. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  dismissed  that  idea  summarily. 
Well,  then,  it  was  among  the  possibilities  that  Mrs. 
Adams  might  be  persuaded  to  bring  a  suit  against 
Mr.  Adams  for  the  support  of  her  children,  or 
abandonment,  but  the  lawyer  judged  that  to  be 
very  doubtful,  in  view  of  the  lady's  admission  that 
she  still  loved  Adams  and  desired  nothing  so  much 
as  a  restoration  of  relations  between  herself  and 

125 


1*6  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Adams  ;  and  (the  lawyer  was  cautious  of  statement 
here)  doubtless  the  lady  had  quite  as  much  dislike 
for  scandal  as  Mrs.  Courtenay,  and  such  a  suit  must 
inevitably  bring  out  the  incident  of  the  five  months 
with  Trescotte.  Of  course  Adams  could  bring  a 
suit,  but  to  what  end?  To  establish  the  validity  of 
a  marriage,  which,  as  it  stood  now,  to  him  was  inva 
lid,  and  re-impose  obligations  which  he  had  shuffled 
off? 

Looking  at  the  matter  from  every  side,  and 
believing  that  there  was,  in  fact,  a  common  law 
marriage  between  Adams  and  Miss  Hallock,  Mr. 
Magrane  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  best  thing  to 
do  was  to  do  nothing. 

It  was  true  that  in  the  beginning  Mr.  Magrane 
had  advised  Mrs.  Trescotte  to  leave  her  husband, 
but  that  was  before  this  phase  of  the  situation  had 
been  presented.  Upon  consideration,  he  now 
believed  that  Mrs.  Trescotte  was  legally  married, 
and  he  would  advise  that  she  remain  with  her  hus 
band.  Of  course,  this  advice  was  based  upon  the 
assumption  of  the  validity  of  the  common  law  mar 
riage,  which  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more 
he  was  inclined  to  believe  was  valid.  If  anyone 
wanted  to  dispute  the  verity  of  the  assumption, 
then  let  that  disputatious  person  undertake  by  legal 
process  to  prove  its  falsity  and  thereby  play  their 
game,  but  until  someone  did,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte 
were  justified  in  acting  on  the  assumption.  It  now 
seemed  to  him  that  Mrs.  Trescotte's  instincts  had  been 
true  from  the  beginning,  and  that  her  position  was 


LAW  SUPPORTS   THE   CHURCH.  127 

tenable,  not,  of  course,  upon  the  fanciful  grounds  on 
which  she  had  founded  her  decision,  but  upon  the 
more  solid  facts  of  the  case.  It  was  useless  to 
think  that  this  affair  could  be  kept  from  the  public. 
Knowledge  of  it  would  creep  out  in  some  form,  and 
perhaps  create  doubt,  if  not  misapprehension,  as  to 
the  real  relations,  but  that  could  not  be  avoided  any 
more  than  the  occasion  of  all  the  trouble  could  be 
disposed  of.  It  was  inseparable  from  the  complica 
tion  ;  the  young  people  must  go  on  as  they  were 
going,  answering  nothing,  defending  nothing,  justi 
fying  nothing — keeping  their  own  counsel. 

This  was  by  no  means  the  outcome  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  had  expected.  Her  active  imagination,  pro 
jected  into  the  next  winter's  season,  saw  the  marital 
relations  of  her  daughter  the  subject  of  unpleasant 
speculation  at  half  the  dinner  tables,  and  all  the  teas, 
of  her  world,  and  she  could  see  with  what  delight 
the  matron  mothers,  envious  because  of  the  brilliant 
outcome  of  the  Trescotte  engagement  at  the  time 
of  the  marriage,  and  the  undoubted  triumph  of  the 
Waldemar  alliance,  would  roll  the  sweet  morsel 
over  and  over  on  every  opportunity,  and  she  winced 
under  it.  But  what  other  course  was  there  to  pur 
sue  ?  She  would  not  escape  this  gossip  if  Dorothy 
were  to  separate  from  Trescotte.  The  advice  of 
Mr,  Magrane  justified  acquiescence  in  a  continuance 
of  the  relation  until  after  the  Waldemar  nuptials, 
and  during  the  intervening  time  she  hoped  that 
secresy  could  be  maintained  ;  indeed,  she  believed 
it  could  be. 


128  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

So  she  left  the  lawyer,  determined  upon  her  policy, 
and  that  was  to  say  nothing  in  her  family,  or  to  her 
friends,  implying  a  doubt  as  to  the  regularity  of  the 
Trescotte  marriage,  and  if  anyone  was  presumptuous 
enough  to  speak  of  it  within  her  hearing,  she  would 
summon  to  her  aid  all  that  arrogance  which  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  use.  Surely,  she  thought,  as 
she  was  riding  up  town,  the  families  of  the  Courte- 
nays  and  the  Van  Aliens,  with  their  powerful  con 
nections,  were  potent  enough  to  force  a  respectful 
recognition  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte.  Mr.  Banker 
had  forced  the  acceptance  of  his  daughter  when  her 
name  had  been  compromised  in  its  association  with 
Tom  Handysides,  even  though  Mrs.  Handysides 
had  gone  to  the  length  of  beginning  a  suit  for 
divorce.  Surely  she  could  do  as  much.  And  the 
beginning  of  the  effort  was  to  be  found  in  refusing 
to  admit  the  possibility  of  a  doubt  of  the  integrity 
of  the  Trescotte  relation. 

By  the  time  this  conclusion  was  reached  so  was 
the  hotel  at  which  she  and  her  husband  were  stop 
ping.  For  a  lady,  certainly  not  less  than  forty-six, 
accustomed  to  the  most  dignified  leisure  and  the 
extreme  of  luxury,  the  three  days  since  she  had  left 
home  had  been  of  unexampled  industry.  Excite 
ment  and  her  natural  energy  had  kept  her  up.  But 
though  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  her 
labors,  she  had  yet  more  business  for  the  day.  Her 
husband  was  anxiously  awaiting  her  arrival.  He 
was  immediately  thrown  into  confusion  by  the 
rapid  change  of  front  of  his  wife,  When  he  last 


LAW  SUPPORTS   THE   CHURCH.  "9 

saw  her  she  was  apparently  hopeless.  Now  she  was 
in  high  glee,  declaring  everything  was  all  right. 
This  whirling  about  and  unsettling  things  that  had 
been  settled  was  very  irritating.  It  had  been  diffi 
cult  for  him  to  understand  how  Dorothy  had  be 
come  unmarried ;  it  was  no  less  difficult  for  him 
to  comprehend  how,  having  been  unmarried,  she 
should  have  become  suddenly  married  again.  But 
he  accepted  the  fact,  as  he  did  most  things  from  his 
wife,  and  to  her  satisfaction  took  fast  hold  of  the 
essential,  that  there  must  be  no  admission  of  a 
doubt  that  Trescotte  and  Dorothy  were  truly  man 
and  wife. 

After  a  lunch  hastily  taken,  Mrs.  Courtenay,  bid 
ding  her  husband  to  make  arrangements  for  their 
return  to  Newport  that  evening,  prepared  herself 
for  two  calls. 

One  on  the  bishop  to  inform  him  of  the  result 
of  her  conference  with  Mr.  Magrane,  and  to  obtain, 
if  possible,  his  approval  of  the  policy  she  had  de 
termined  upon,  and  thus  remove  all  lingering 
doubts  as  to  its  morality.  The  bishop  was  highly 
pleased  with  the  turn  of  affairs.  He  could  see,  he 
said,  little,  if  any,  difference  between  a  common 
law  marriage  and  one  performed  by  a  civil  magis 
trate.  Neither,  as  all  marriages  should  be,  was  a 
holy  sacrament.  Therefore,  if  so  high  an  authority 
as  Mr.  Magrane  was  satisfied  that  a  common  law 
marriage  had  been  contracted  by  Mr.  Adams  and 
the  woman  who  now  bore  his  name,  then  surely  Mr. 
Trescotte  and  Dorothy  were  in  precisely  the  same 


13°  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

position  as  they  all  supposed  they  were  on  the  day 
he  had  married  them — truly  and  lawfully  wedded. 

Much  delighted,  and  with  all  burdens  lifted  from 
her  conscience,  Mrs.  Courtenay  went  to  her  second 
call — to  Dorothy.  This  time  she  saw  Trescotte, 
for  all  bitterness  had  passed  away  and  she  was  pre 
pared  to  take  him  into  the  sunshine  of  her  favor  as 
her  son-in-law.  We  are  all  of  us  prone  to  believe 
earnestly  what  we  sincerely  desire  to  believe.  It  is 
therefore  not  to  be  wondered  at  that,  having  Mr. 
Magrane's  opinion  and  the  bishop's  approval,  Mrs. 
Courtenay  was  persuaded  that  there  was  not  the 
least  flaw  in  the  marriage  title  of  her  daughter, 
and  whatever  trouble  there  was,  was  due  to  the 
very  stupid  discovery  of  Mr.  Adams,  and  that  Tres 
cotte  and  Dorothy  had  been  very  badly  treated. 
So  improved  was  the  condition  of  her  mind  that, 
as  she  waited  for  response  to  her  bell,  she  noted 
with  critical  delight  the  equipage  waiting  to  take 
Dorothy  for  her  afternoon's  drive,  perfect  in  its  de 
tail,  from  the  superb  horses  to  the  motionless  foot 
man  with  folded  arms  standing  at  the  door  of  the 
coach. 

When  Dorothy,  who  had  been  anticipating 
another  assault  from  her  mother  after  the  calls  of 
the  doctor  and  the  bishop  had  justified  her  hus 
band's  predictions,  learned  the  purpose  of  her 
mother's  call,  she  was  greatly  delighted.  Perhaps 
she  cried  a  little  over  the  satisfaction  she  found  in 
the  assurance  that  she  was  a  wife  in  name  as  well  as 
in  fact.  And  there  was  no  less  satisfaction  in  the 


LAW  SUPPORTS   THE  CHURCH.  131 

assurance  that  there  would  be  no  rupture  of  family 
ties.  She  had  foreseen  such  rupture,  and  while  de 
termined  to  endure  it  rather  than  part  from  Tres- 
cotte,  yet  she  had  grieved  over  it  in  secret.  Tres- 
cotte  suspected  that  this  was  the  reason  for  the 
shade  of  melancholy  he  had  seen  flit  over  her  face 
when  her  father's  or  mother's  name  was  mentioned, 
and  he  was  highly  pleased  with  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
news,  assurances,  and  change  of  temper. 

"  I  was  much  distressed,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay 
very  affably,  "  when  I  first  heard  the  story.  The 
only  thing  I  hold  against  Mr.  Magrane  is  that  be 
fore  making  us  all  so  uncomfortable  he  did  not  ex 
amine  the  case  in  all  its  bearings.  You  see  it  is  only 
because  of  my  persistent  efforts  in  your  interest,  my 
dear  children,  that  the  truth  was  forced  to  the  sur 
face.  Surely  you  have  had  evidence  of  my  affection 
for  you." 

And  Trescotte,  anxious  to  believe  anything  which 
would  increase  the  happiness  of  his  beloved  Dorothy, 
assured  his  mother-in-law  that  he  had  never  been  in 
any  doubt  of  that  affection. 

"  Is  it  not  singular,"  asked  Mrs.  Courtenay,  swell 
ing  with  pride  and  really  believing  that  she  had 
rescued  the  pair  from  some  calamity,  "is  it  not 
singular  that  it  should  have  been  the  bishop  who 
suggested  this  happy  solution?  You  should  both 
hold  him  in  great  esteem  and  affection." 

"  We  do,"  responded  Trescotte,  very  grateful,  now 
that  he  saw  the  old  happy  light  dancing  in  the  dark 
eyes  of  Dorothy.  "  We'll  have  him  to  dinner.  His 


I32  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

family   is   away    and    his   household    must   be   dis 
ordered." 

A  strict  regard  for  veracity  compels  me  to  note 
that  Mrs.  Courtenay  said  nothing  about  her  hurried 
trip  to  Buffalo,  and  her  endeavor  to  persuade  Mrs. 
Adams  to  set  up  claims  to  Trescotte  as  a  husband. 
It  really  was  of  no  importance  in  view  of  the  turn  of 
affairs ;  it  would  have  only  complicated  matters, 
and  it  is  doubtful  whether  her  motives  would  have 
been  understood  without  a  good  deal  of  explana 
tion. 

When  it  was  time  for  her  to  return  to  her  hotel, 
her  own  hired  carriage  was  dismissed,  and  she  drove 
back  in  that  splendid  equipage  which  had  so  excited 
her  admiration,  with  Trescotte  and  Dorothy,  and  at 
the  hotel  there  was  a  happy  meeting  with  the  father, 
in  which  the  last  vestige  of  bitterness  was  swept 
away. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  advised,  and  Mr.  Courtenay 
urged,  that  the  Trescottes  should  close  their  city 
house  and  visit  Newport.  The  elder  lady  feared 
that  the  eccentricity  of  an  open  house  in  the  summer 
months  would  excite  remarks,  something  at  this 
juncture  to  be  avoided.  Trescotte  urged,  in  re 
sponse,  that  the  closing  of  it  again  after  opening  it 
for  two  weeks  would  excite  quite  as  much  remark, 
and  being  sustained  by  Dorothy,  declined,  saying 
that  he  was  quite  willing  that  the  world  should 
believe  him  "  spoons  "  on  his  wife,  and  of  inventing 
a  new  way  of  spending  the  honeymoon. 

Trescotte  had  a  better  and  more  profound  reason 


LA  W  SUPPORTS    THE    CHURCH.  133 

than  he  had  seen  fit  to  express.  He  was  by  no  means 
certain  that  their  problem  had  been  solved  in  this 
simple  and  direct  manner.  And  he  did  not  care  to 
expose  Dorothy  to  the  dangers  and  humiliations 
should  their  story  become  known  while  they  were 
in  Newport.  And  he  knew  his  Newport  too  well 
not  to  know  what  it  would  do  if  opportunity  were 
given  it. 

Mrs.  Courtenay,  wearied  yet  happy,  returned  with 
her  husband  to  Newport  to  resume  the  weary  grind 
of  society's  treadmill,  and  Dorothy  and  Trescotte  to 
the  house  with  windows  opening  on  Central  Park, 
to  live  their  lives  in  their  own  ways,  far  happier  than 
they  had  yet  been,  for  the  sunshine  is  always  brighter 
after  the  black  storm  clouds  have  rolled  away. 


BOOK  III.— OSTRACISM. 
CHAPTER  I. 

A  CRITICAL  POINT. 

THE  wedding  of  Hilda  and  Waldemar  took  place 
in  October,  and  the  two  young  people  crossed  to 
Germany,  carrying  forward  one  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
most  cherished  plans. 

Dorothy  and  Trescotte  were  not  present.  A 
jewel  of  large  value  represented  them.  At  the  time 
their  absence  was  not  noticed.  It  was  not  until  it 
was  all  over  that  someone  recollected  and  com- 
mented  upon  the  fact  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte 
were  present  at  neither  the  ceremony  at  the  church, 
nor  at  the  reception  at  the  house.  Then  busy 
tongues  wagged. 

In  the  months  intervening  between  the  great  dis 
covery  of  the  common  law  marriage,  over  which 
Mrs.  Courtenay  so  plumed  herself,  and  the  marriage 
of  Hilda,  over  which  Mrs.  Courtenay  so  triumphed, 
the  lives  of  Dorothy  and  Trescotte  flowed  along  on 
pleasant  and  happy  lines.  Life  was  perfect  to 

135 


I36  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

Dorothy.  The  birds  sang  in  her  heart  a  cheerful 
refrain  that  found  an  echo  in  her  voice.  Weather- 
beaten  as  I  am  by  time,  and  the  storms  it  brings, 
and  realizing,  as  I  must,  how  hollow  are  the  joys, 
ambitions,  and  pomps  of  life,  yet  never  could  I  look 
upon  that  happy  face  and  those  shining  eyes,  lifted 
with  such  sublime  faith  and  confidence  to  Trescotte 
in  those  days,  without  a  responsive  thrill  and  a  slip 
ping  back  into  the  old  superstition  that  there  were 
such  things  as  joy  and  happiness.  Trescotte,  too, 
in  those  days  seemed  no  less  happy,  though  he  has 
since  confessed  to  me  that  there  was  then  the  alloy 
of  apprehension.  Having  little  faith  in  the  common 
law  marriage,  which  he  believed  to  be  a  mere  sub 
terfuge  to  quiet  consciences  anxious  to  be  quieted, 
he  feared  that  when  society  returned  to  the  city 
Dorothy's  real  ordeal  would  be  reached.  Supported 
by  the  powerful  influences  of  the  Courtenay  and 
Van  Allen,  the  Trescotte  and  McNish  (his  mother's) 
families,  together  with  the  approval  of  the  bishop, 
who  had  dined  half  a  dozen  times  with  them,  he 
was  willing  to  believe  that  their  social  position  could 
be  made  secure.  The  trouble,  in  his  estimation, 
was  the  concentration  of  those  powerful  interests. 
Divisions  and  jealousies  existed,  and  there  were 
branches  of  each  family  quite  ready  to  rise  in  revolt 
against  other  branches  of  the  same  family.  Did  not 
the  wife  of  the  nephew  of  Herbert  Courtenay  dispute 
the  right  of  Mrs.  Courtenay  to  lead  in  society? 
And  did  she  not  insist,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  her 
husband  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  eldest  son,  ft 


A    CRITICAL  POINT.  137 

cetera,  upon  her  right  to  engrave  on  her  cards  "  Mrs. 
Courtenay,"  a  privilege  Mrs.  Herbert  Courtenay 
arrogated  ?  While  all  these  various  and  sometimes 
hostile  divisions  were  ready  to  combine  to  repel  the 
invader,  apparently  they  always  were  willing  to  take 
up  arms  against  one  of  their  order  if  the  contest 
was  to  be  waged  within  society's  circle.  Trescotte 
feared  that  a  contest  in  which  Mrs.  Courtenay 
should  be  the  leader  would  only  result  in  insult  and 
humiliation  for  Dorothy.  For  himself  he  cared 
nothing  at  all ;  it  was  Dorothy  and  Dorothy's  happi* 
ness  that  was  upon  his  mind. 

Trescotte  often  discussed  this  question  over  the 
wine  with  Mr.  Magrane.  The  lawyer  had  become 
a  frequent  guest  at  the  Trescotte  table.  The  cook 
was  excellent  and  the  wines  superb.  And  he  had 
grown  to  be  very  fond  of  the  two  young  people. 
While  Trescotte  could  not  be  satisfied  that  the 
world  would  accept  the  common  law  marriage  as  a 
solution  of  their  troubles,  Mr.  Magrane  could  do  no 
more  than  assert  his  positive  opinion  that  it  must 
stand  in  law,  if  they  could  only  bring  it  under 
judicial  review.  They  never  got  beyond  these 
propositions,  but  the  subject  had  an  irresistible 
attraction  for  them,  and  they  returned  to  it  fre 
quently  when  Dorothy  had  left  the  table. 

The  real  result  of  all  this  thinking  and  discussion 
upon  the  subject  was,  that  Trescotte  persuaded  him 
self  that  the  course  he  and  Dorothy  should  pursue 
was  that  of  self-imposed  isolation ;  to  refuse  to 
accept  invitations  and  to  give  none.  If  these  peo- 


138  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

pie,  learning  all  there  was  to  be  learned,  condemned 
their  position,  at  least  the  charge  of  forcing  them 
selves  upon  society  in  its  ignorance  of  those  rela^ 
tions  could  not  be  maintained  against  them.  By 
this  course  also  Dorothy  could  be  preserved  from 
slights  and  humiliations.  Fully  persuaded  as  he  was 
as  to  the  wisdom  of  this  course,  yet  he  shrank  from 
telling  his  doubts  and  fears  to  Dorothy  in  the  high 
tide  of  her  happiness. 

But  the  time  for  the  Hilda-Waldemar  wedding 
approached.  During  the  weeks  preceding  the  wed 
ding,  after  the  Courtenay  family  had  returned  from 
Newport,  the  Trescottes  had  frequently  dined  at 
Dorothy's  old  home,  and  the  various  members  of 
her  family  had  been  frequent  visitors  at  her  table. 
To  all  this  Trescotte  had  submitted  without  protest, 
although  he  had  been  worried  over  sitting  at  the 
table  with  Waldemar.  It  was  not  because  he  was  in 
any  doubt  as  to  the  moral  standard  of  Waldemar. 
He  knew  only  too  well  that  that  easy-going  young 
gentleman  had  dined  at  many  tables  the  female  grace 
of  which  was  a  purchasable  quantity,  and  often  had 
had  the  hardihood  to  leave  his  own  drag  at  the 
races  to  converse  over  carriage  doors  with  beauties 
more  notorious  for  the  publicity  of  their  lives  than 
the  circumspection  of  them.  But  he  also  knew  the 
peculiar  code  governing  young  men  of  the  Walde 
mar  breed,  and  that  they  not  only  demanded  from 
their  wives  the  most  spotless  escutcheon,  but  the 
same  from  all  of  the  female  persuasion  who  belonged 
to  them.  The  possible  cloud  upon  the  Trescotte 


A   CRITICAL  POINT.  139 

marriage  title  had  never  been  mentioned  in  the 
Courtenay  family,  and  of  it  Hilda  was  as  ignorant 
as  Waldemar. 

But  with  the  wedding  came  the  necessity  for 
action.  The  question  was,  should  or  should  they 
not  present  themselves  at  the  ceremony  and  the 
reception.  Trescotte  laid  it  before  Dorothy,  thereby 
greatly  distressing  her.  If  her  father  and  mother 
and  the  bishop  were  satisfied  as  to  the  integrity  of 
their  relations,  why  should  not  the  world  be?  Her 
husband  told  her  all  his  doubts  and  apprehensions. 
It  was  like  beginning  all  over  again.  Dorothy  had 
rested  so  secure  that  revival  of  this  question  was 
almost  as  much  of  a  shock  as  the  revelation  had 
been.  However,  she  comprehended  that  all  of  Tres- 
cotte's  concern  was  for  herself,  and  that  sweetened 
the  bitterness  of  it. 

The  end  of  the  conference  was  the  conclusion 
that  self-imposed  isolation  should  be  the  policy,  and 
to  this  conclusion  Dorothy  came  uninfluenced  by 
Trescotte,  who  contented  himself  with  laying  his 
apprehensions  before  her,  asking  her  to  reason  it  out 
for  herself,  promising  to  abide  by  any  decision  she 
might  come  to. 

That  is  why  they  were  represented  by  an  expen. 
give  jewel  at  the  wedding. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MRS.  DEEKMAN'S  DINNER. 

THE  wisdom  of  Trescotte  was  soon  made  rnani* 
fest. 

Society  had  not  long  settled  into  its  autumn 
routine  before  a  whisper  went  its  rounds  that  there 
was  something  wrong  in  the  Trescotte  marriage. 
No  one  knew  just  what  it  was,  but  whatever  it  was, 
was  wrong.  The  facts,  that  the  Trescotte's  had 
opened  their  city  house  in  mid-summer  instead  of 
herding  with  their  kind  on  mountain  and  seaside, 
and  that  they  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence  at 
the  Waldemar  nuptials,  were  put  in  evidence,  and 
people  were  left  to  draw  their  own  conclusions. 
And  people,  not  certain  what  conclusions  they 
should  draw,  nevertheless  concluded  things  were 
very  bad.  It  is  a  charming  quality  of  human  nature 
that  we  always  take  the  most  pessimistic  view  of 
our  neighbor's  affairs.  By  and  by  the  whisper 
took  the  more  definite  form  of  assertion  that  it  had 
been  discovered  that  Trescotte  had  a  wife,  other 
than  Dorothy,  hidden  away  these  many  years,  who, 
learning  of  the  Courtenay  alliance,  refused  to  be 
longer  placated  with  money.  Then  this  was  fol 
lowed  up  with  the  positive  statement  that  all  of 


MRS.    DEEKMAN'S  DINNER,  141 

this  had  been  known  to  the  Courtenays  from  the 
beginning,  yet,  as  the  wife  was  a  low  Swiss  girl  back 
in  the  mountains  of  her  native  country,  and  the 
marriage  was  contracted  before  Trescotte  was  of 
age,  it  had  been  supposed  nothing  would  be  heard 
of  it  to  discomfort  anybody.  But  now  the  whole 
Swiss  family,  with  peaked  hats  from  which  fluttered 
gay  ribbons,  with  short  velvet  jackets  with  many 
buttons  and  cross  bars  of  many  metal  laces,  had 
suddenly  appeared  in  the  city  prepared  to  push  the 
rights  of  the  Swiss  Mrs.  Trescotte  to  the  extreme. 

And  while  society  gossiped  and  wondered,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Trescotte  lived  their  own  lives  in  their 
own  way.  Self-imposed  isolation  is  what  they 
called  it.  A  figure  of  speech,  however.  They  rode 
in  the  Park,  and  none  on  the  Boulevard  created 
more  envy  than  they  did  when  the  famous  hackneys 
swept  along,  arching  their  necks  and  throwing  their 
knees  up  and  down  with  the  precision  of  piston  rods. 
At  the  fall  regattas  the  yachtsmen  had  admired 
the  fine  lines  of  The  Decision,  and  noted  with 
applause  that,  like  a  true  sailor,  Mrs.  Trescotte  took 
her  "trick  "  at  the  wheel.  Their  faces  were  to  be 
seen  at  all  the  first  nights,  and  the  Trescotte  box 
at  the  Music  Hall  was  as  eligibly  situated  as  the 
heaviest  subscriber  to  the  symphony  concerts  ought 
to  be.  Moreover,  there  were  current  stories  of 
dinners  given  to  people  famous  in  the  arts  and 
sciences,  and  musicales,  which,  if  known  in  advance, 
would  have  led  to  more  intrigue  and  diplomacy  for 
admission  than  ivould  have  sufficed  for  three  changes 


142  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

of  the  map  of  Europe.  Surely  self-imposed  isola 
tion  under  these  circumstances  was  only  a  figure  of 
speech. 

About  the  time  the  marital  relations  of  the  Tres- 
cottes  began  to  be  talked  about  openly,  Mrs.  Deck- 
man  gave  a  dinner.  This  lady  had  three  daughters 
still  in  stock,  and  had  at  one  time  entertained  great 
hopes  of  both  Trescotte  and  Waldemar. 

From  the  moment  I  learned  that  not  one  of  the 
Courtenay  or  Trescotte  connections  were  bidden, 
and  that  Mr.  Magrane  was,  I  had  a  wicked  sus 
picion  that  the  dinner  was  a  bit  of  social  diplomacy 
to  get  at  the  truth  of  the  Trescotte  affair.  My  sus 
picion  was  confirmed  when,  long  before  champagne, 
Mrs.  Beestonmy,  sworn  crony  of  Mrs.  Deekman, 
started  the  ball.  A  mention  of  the  mystery  only, 
was  required  to  set  the  tongues  in  motion.  All  the 
old  insinuations  were  repeated,  and  "  Airy  "  Sheffer, 
beau  to  the  matrons  present  when  they  were  young, 
and  still  beau  to  their  daughters,  detailed  minutely 
the  Swiss  family  story.  So  much  attention  did  he 
receive,  something  unusual  in  his  experience,  that 
he  was  tempted  to  flights  of  fancy  involving  an 
interview  with  the  paternal  Swiss,  but  was  deterred 
by  something  in  the  eyes  of  Tracey  Harte,  who 
watched  him  steadily. 

"  How  nice,"  commented  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  when 
"Airy"  Sheffer  had  completed  his  tale.  "Why 
does  Mr.  Trescotte  hesitate  ?  I  dote  on  bells. 
From  that  moment  when  my  nurse  took  me  to  see 
a  Swiss  family  of  bell  ringers,  who  made  such 


MRS.    DEEKMAH'S  DINNER.  143 

lovely  music  by  striking  bells  with  a  little  stick,  I 
have  had  but  one  serious  ambition  in  life,  and  that 
is  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  a  bell  ringer.  If 
Mr.  Trescotte  will  acknowledge  this  Swiss  bell  ring 
ing  wife,  I'll  be  her  dearest  friend." 

Mr.  Magrane,  who  was  the  lady's  vis-h-vis,  and 
who  was  meeting  her  for  the  first  time,  addressed 
her  across  the  table,  his  eyes  twinkling  with  humor: 

"  You  do  not  believe  the  Swiss  family  story  ?  " 

"  Believe  it  ?"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  I  must.  My  great 
desire  to  have  a  Swiss  bell  ringer  in  our  set  compels 
me,  and  then  Mr.  Sheffer  tells  it,  and  he  has  never 
been  known  to  spread  a  story  the  truth  of  which  he 
has  not  fully  investigated — have  you,  Mr.  Sheffer?" 

The  appeal  was  made  with  such  sweetness  and 
confidence  that  "  Airy  "  lost  a  little  of  that  airiness 
which  had  made  the  pun  on  his  name  possible,  and 
replied,  quite  red  in  the  face : 

"  If  I  had  had  the  honor  of  your  closer  attention, 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  you  would  have  heard  me  say 
that  I  did  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  story,  but 
that  it  was  current  talk." 

"  How  disappointing,"  exclaimed  the  lady.  "  I 
am  afraid  my  ambition  is  not  to  be  gratified.  Be 
sides,  if  Mr.  Sheffer's  tale  falls  to  the  ground,  what 
guarantee  have  we  that  the  whole  Trescotte  gossip 
does  not  go  down,  too?  There  is  a  legal  maxim 
to  that  end,  is  there  not,  Mr.  Magrane  ?  " 

Mr.  Magrane  laughingly  assured  the  lady  that  her 
Information  was  correct. 

"  Then  the  whole  story  about  there  being  any- 


144  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

thing  wrong  is  all  rot,  isn't  it?  "  asked  Tracey  Harte, 
who  was  invited  because  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was. 
"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  Tracey,"  remarked  the  irrepressible  young 
woman,  in  a  tone  which  could  be  heard  only  by  the 
one  she  addressed,  and  Mr.  Magrane,  very  attentive 
upon  her,  "  you  positively  must  learn  how  to  make 
love.  The  way  you  dispose  of  our  latest  and  sweet 
est  morsel  of  scandal  is  too  charming." 

"I  never  did  believe  in  the  Swiss  family  story," 
boomed  a  voice  like  a  fog  horn  at  sea,  down  the 
table.  It  belonged  to  Mr.  Starkhite,  a  solemn-faced 
bachelor  sitting  in  the  seat  of  honor  on  the  right  of 
Mrs.  Deekman. 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  put  in  Mrs.  Deekman,  who  feared 
the  conversation  was  taking  a  tack  which  would  put 
the  subject  aside.  "  But  the  story  of  a  marriage  in 
Switzerland  has  more  substance,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  my  bell  ringers  yet.  Do  give  it  to  us ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen. 

It  was  singular  that,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen  was  so  irritating,  she  should  be  invited 
everywhere. 

"  I  don't  understand  your  adherence  to  bell  ringers, 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  loftily  replied  Mrs.  Deekman. 

"  Why,  do  not  all  the  Swiss  ring  bells  ?  "  asked  the 
young  woman  with  great  innocence.  "If  they  don't, 
they  are  nothing  to  me.  Mr.  Trescotte's  affairs  lose 
interest  if  he  is  not  to  have  a  Swiss  bell  ringer  for  a 
wife." 

Mr.  Magrane,  taking  no  part  in  the  conversation, 


MRS.    DEEKMAN' S  DINNER.  145 

but  watching  his  vis-b-vis,  thought  she  was  adopt- 
ing  ingenious  means  to  end  a  conversation  distaste 
ful  to  her. 

"  One  would  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Beestonmy  very 
heavily  from  her  side  of  the  table,  "  that  the  pecu 
liar  position  of  poor  Mrs.  Trescotte  would  excite  not 
only  your  interest  but  your  sympathy,  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen." 

"  Ah,"  replied  that  young  lady  with  a  very  dan 
gerous  baby  stare,  "  to  which  do  you  refer?  The 
Swiss — I  won't  say  bell  ringer  again,  Mrs.  Deekman 
— the  Swiss  Mrs.  Trescotte  or  the  New  York  Mrs. 
Trescotte  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  which  I 
mean — the  Mrs.  Trescotte  who  has  been. brought 
up  among  us,"  replied  Mrs.  Beestonmy,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  had  sat  heavily  upon  an  offender. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  not  at  all 
abashed  by  the  fact  that  all  the  conversation  at  the 
table  was  suspended  to  listen  to  the  covert  duel. 
"  So  I  should,  and  for  poor  Mrs.  Courtenay,  too. 
We  all  of  us  will  be  so  distressed  if  it  turns  out  that 
one  of  the  matches  she  made  with  such  skill,  defeat 
ing  us  all,  and  for  which  we  all  envied  her  so  much, 
should  turn  out  to  be  a  fluke,  won't  we,  dear  Mrs. 
Deekman?" 

Mrs.  Deekman  was  slow  in  responding  to  this 
thrust.  So  also  was  Mrs.  Beestonmy,  and  before 
either  of  them  could  convince  themselves  of  the 
sarcasm  of  their  intended  replies,  Tracey  Harte 
broke  in : 


H6  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  wrong  at  all. 
It's  just  gossip  started  because  Trescotte  and  his 
bride  wanted  to  enjoy  their  honeymoon  in  a  rational 
manner — downright,  malicious  gossip,  I  call  it." 

"  Positively,  Tracey,  you  are  becoming  dangerous," 
whispered  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  "  The  visible  Mrs. 
Trescotte  of  doubtful  relation  would  be  sacred  to 
you.  But  as  a  bride,  concerning  whose  status  there 
is  no  doubt,  she  will  become  the  object  of  your  latest 
adoration.  You  are  very  wicked  !  " 

"Mr.  Harte  wicked?  Impossible!"  simpered 
Miss  Alliger,  a  young  lady  approaching  the  age  un 
certain,  who  sat  upon  Tracey 's  other  side. 

"  Positively  wicked  !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen. 
"He  would  destroy  the  only  pleasure  left  us  poor 
matrons — the  comforting  consolation  of  well-regu 
lated  gossip." 

"  I  do  not  consider  it  gossip,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Beestonmy,  lugging  in  her  artillery.  "  Here  is  a  seri 
ous  question.  Has  Mr.  Trescotte  one  wife  or  two  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  "  if  you  put  it  that 
way,  all  my  sympathy  will  have  to  be  for  Mr.  Tres 
cotte." 

Mrs.  Beestonmy  shot  a  stern  look  at  the  irrepres 
sible  young  matron  and  continued :  "  If  he  had  a 
wife  when  he  married  poor  Dorothy,  then  he  im- 
posed  on  the  poor  creature." 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  settled  belief  of  us  married 
women  that  we  were  all  imposed  upon — our  natural 
condition,  as  sparks  fly  upward,"  again  put  in  the 
young  woman. 


MRS.   DEEKMAN' S  DINNER.  14? 

Mrs.  Beestonmy  undertook  to  subdue  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen  by  ignoring  her,  and  continued  : 

"  But  we  are  told  that  Dorothy  knew  of  the  pre 
vious  marriage  before  she  was  engaged.  That  being 
so,  we  have  a  duty  to  ourselves,  our  friends,  and 
society  to  perform." 

"  Duty  with  a  big  D,  I  suppose,"  remarked  the 
young  woman  with  an  approving  nod. 

"  We  should  know  the  truth,  and  condemn  such 
relations  deliberately  entered  into  !  " 

"  But  then  the  bishop  sanctioned  the  marriage," 
sweetly  remarked  the  other. 

"  In  ignorance  of  the  facts,"  said  Mrs.  Deekman 
loftily. 

"Ah,  yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  "But 
since  they  opened  house  he  has  dined  with  the 
Trescottes  six  several  and  distinct  times.  Is  that 
explicit  and  legal,  Mr.  Magrane?" 

The  lawyer  bowed,  his  eyes  dancing.  He  opened 
his  lips  to  speak,  but  Mrs.  Deekman  was  replying: 

"  It  may  be  true,  yet  you  may  rest  assured  that 
the  bishop  knows  nothing  of  the  story." 

"  Pardon  me,"  broke  in  Mr.  Magrane,  speaking  for 
the  first  time.  "  The  bishop  knew  all  there  was  to 
know,  without  reservation,  before  he  visited  the 
Trescotte's  the  first  time." 

The  remark  was  like  the  dropping  of  a  bomb 
shell.  Nearly  all  at  the  table  knew  that  Mr. 
Magrane  occupied  the  relation  of  counsel  to  Mr 
Trescotte,  and  therefore  spoke  with  authority. 
Silence  followed  his  remark.  It  was  Mrs.  Trevor- 


I45  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Allen  who  broke  it,  and  in  so  doing  voiced  the  senti 
ments  of  all. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  there  is  something,  then  !  Do 
tell  us?" 

Her  question  had  an  effect  contrary  to  her  expec 
tation.  Thoroughly  convinced  that  there  was  noth 
ing  in  the  gossip,  she  thought  they  had  arrived  at  a 
point  when  she  could  compel  Mr.  Magrane  to  give 
it  its  quietus. 

"  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  replied  the  lawyer  with  a 
quizzical  expression,  "a  lady  so  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  legal  maxims  and  legal  phraseology, 
as  you  appear  to  be,  must  also  know  that  a  counsel 
is  something  like  a  father-confessor — secrets  he  must 
lock  in  his  breast." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  cried  the  lady,  "the  more  disappoint- 
ing  you  are,  the  more  interesting  you  become. 
How  cruel !  You  see  us  here,  our  appetites  whetted 
for  gossip,  and  you  refuse  us  bread  !  " 

Before  he  could  reply  the  deep  voice  of  Mr. 
Starkhite  boomed  down  the  table.  This  time  he 
was  permitted  to  finish  his  sentence. 

"  I  never  did  believe  in  the  Swiss  family  story, 
but  I  am  certain  the  story  of  a  previous  marriage  in 
Switzerland  is  true.  It  was  an  American  girl  he 
married." 

This  was  another  bombshell.  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
looked  to  Mr.  Magrane  to  reply.  In  fact  all  did ; 
but  it  was  not  his  intention  to  discuss  his  client's 
affairs. 

The  silence  became  oppressive,  and  it  was  again 


MRS.    DEEKMAN'S  DINNER.  149 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  who  broke  it,  and  with  a  question 
to  the  lawyer. 

"  Are  you  a  friend  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte?  " 

"  I  am  more — I  am  their  counsel." 

There  was  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  "  their." 

Booming  over  the  table  came  the  deep  voice  of 
Mr.  Starkhite  again : 

"  I  have  known  this  for  a  number  of  years.  The 
fact  was  told  me  by  the  lady's  father.  I  presume 
she  is  dead." 

Again  all  looked  to  Mr.  Magrane,  but  he  was 
busy  with  the  ice  with  which  he  had  just  been  served. 

"  Or  she  may  have  been  divorced  ?"  queried  Mrs. 
Deekman. 

Still  Mr.  Magrane  did  not  reply.  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen,  addressing  Tracey  Harte,  said,  with  the  hope 
her  words  would  reach  Mr.  Magrane  : 

f'  Here  is  a  case  where  silence  is  more  harmful 
than  speech." 

The  lawyer  heard  them  and  shot  a  significant 
glance  at  the  fair  lady.  "  I  believe  Mr.  Starkhite's 
information  to  be  entirely  correct,"  he  said  impres 
sively.  "  To  discuss  a  client's  affairs,  even  at  a  pri 
vate  dinner  table,  is  a  breach  of  faith  upon  the  part  of 
counsel,  as  any  lawyer  will  say.  Lest,  however,  my 
silence  shall  give  color  to  the  gossip  that  there  is 
something  reprehensible  in  the  relations  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Trescotte,  I  will  say,  I  believe  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trescotte  to  be  lawfully  and  truly  married.  That 
also,  is  the  opinion  of  the  bishop,  who  proves  his 
faith  by  dining  with  them." 


15°  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

The  peculiar  emphasis  Mr.  Magrane  gave  to  the 
words,  "  I  believe,"  was  unfortunate,  since  it,  at 
least,  confirmed  the  belief  that  there  was  something 
strange  about  the  Trescotte  relations,  and  that  if  he 
and  the  bishop  believed  them  to  be  right,  he  ac 
knowledged  there  was  something  people  could  take 
an  opposite  side  upon.  And  the  majority  of  those 
present  were  anxious  to  take  the  opposite  side,  if 
there  was  an  opposite  side  to  take.  The  discussion 
at  the  table,  however,  passed  away,  with  one  more 
attempt  upon  the  part  of  Mrs.  Beestonmy : 

"Then  if  this  is  so,"  she  asked,  "  why  do  these 
young  people  keep  themselves  aloof  from  society?" 

"I  am  counsel  to  them,"  said  Mr.  Magrane  with 
severe  dignity,  to  the  open  delight  of  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen,  "  on  matters  of  law.  I  do  not  counsel  them 
as  to  matters  of  society." 

Before  Mr.  Magrane  took  his  leave,  which  he  did 
shortly  after  joining  the  ladies,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
said  to  him  : 

"  I  have  been  thinking  what  an  uncomfortable 
time  you  have  provided  for  the  bishop." 

"  I  ?     How  ? " 

"  By  telling  us  gossip-loving  matrons  that  he 
knows  all  about  the  Trescotte  affair." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that.     I'll  warn  the  bishop." 

"  Do.  No  one  who  can  snub  us  so  artistically 
as  the  bishop  when  he  is  prepared.  And,  Mr. 
Magrane,  tell  him  that  if  he  ever  was  the  friend  of 
Dorothy  Trescotte  now  is  the  time  when  he  must 
prove  it." 


MKS.   DEEKMAWS  DINNER.  151 

"Of  course  I'll  obey  your  command,  but  I  don't 
understand." 

"  Since  we  left  the  table  we  have  decided  that 
there  is  something  improper,  and  so  we  are  going 
to  send  Dorothy  to  Coventry." 

"  I  see." 

The  eyes  of  the  lawyer  expressed  a  great  deal  of 
admiration  for  the  young  woman,  who,  if  incompre 
hensible  to  many,  was  not  to  him. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Magrane,  can  you  give  me 
the  number  of  Mrs.  Trescotte's  house  ?" 

Mr.  Magrane  laughed  outright  as  he  gave  it  to 
her. 

"  You  propose  to  begin  to  send  her  to  Coventry 
by  calling  upon  her,"  he  said. 

"  I  like  to  be  first  in  whatever  I  undertake.  Mr, 
Magrane,  I  receive  on  Tuesdays.  I'll  be  pleased  to 
see  you." 

Mr.  Magrane  bowing  his  thanks,  left  her,  wonder 
ing  where  Mr.  Trevor-Allen  was,  whether  she  was  a 
widow,  and  what  that  wicked  old  Trevor-Allen,  with 
his  mint  of  money  and  thousands  of  acres,  was  to 
her,  little  dreaming  that  the  vivacious  and  winsome 
woman  was  the  wife  of  the  sordid,  wicked  old  man. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MRS.  TREVOR-ALLEN'S  INTRIGUE. 

THE  Deekman  dinner  gave  impetus  to  the 
Trescotte  scandal.  It  had  served  its  purpose,  and 
justified  its  expense.  What  had  previously  been 
suggested  in  ambiguous  phrase  was  now  expressed 
in  plain  terms.  The  Swiss  family  myth  passed 
away  under  Mr.  Magrane's  admission  that  Mr. 
Starkhite's  information  was  accurate,  but  involved 
in  the  admission  was  the  certainty  of  something 
mysterious  in  the  Trescotte  affair,  which  must, 
therefore,  be  reprehensible.  It  was  so  asserted,  at 
all  events,  in  club  parlors  as  well  as  those  of  private 
mansions.  Mr.  Magrane's  caution  had  not  helped 
the  Trescottes.  His  tone  and  manner,  while  assert 
ing  his  belief  in  the  legality  of  the  marriage,  had 
carried  conviction  of  a  doubt  to  those  anxious  to 
entertain  a  doubt. 

The  bishop  was  much  harrassed  because  of  his 
possession  of  the  secret,  but,  as  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
had  said,  he  was  an  adept  in  the  art  of  snubbing. 
He  dismissed  inquiries  with  the  remark  that  since 
the  Church,  which  was  himself,  and  the  law,  which 
was  Mr.  Magrane,  were  satisfied  with  the  existing 
relation,  it  was  no  concern  of  the  world,  which  was 


MRS.   TREVOR-ALLEN S  INTRIGUE.  153 

Mrs.  Deekman  and  Mrs.  Beestonmy  and  their 
followers.  But  the  bishop's  reticence  t/nly  added 
fuel  to  the  flames. 

Echoes  of  the  gossip  reached  Mrs.  Courtenay,  and 
she  thanked  her  stars  that  Hilda  was  safely  married. 
But  she  vowed  vengeance  and  warfare  upon  those 
instrumental  in  spreading  the  gossip.  When  she 
heard  of  the  Deekman  dinner  and  the  movement  to 
ostracize  Dorothy,  she  determined  to  show  that 
she  could  bite.  Mrs.  Deekman  and  Mrs.  Beestonmy 
learned  that  she  could,  and  very  hard,  too,  for  at  the 
annual  meeting  of  the  crack  charity  society,  a  seat 
in  the  directory  of  which  was  passport  to  the  inner 
circles  of  society,  these  two  ladies  found  the  seats 
which  they  had  only  achieved  the  previous  year 
filled  by  two  friends  of  Mrs.  Courtenay.  They 
were  under  no  misapprehension  as  to  the  cause  of 
their  reverse,  and  regarded  it  as  a  declaration  of 
war,  and  vigorous  war  it  would  have  been  could  Mrs. 
Courtenay  have  persuaded  Trescotte  to  consent  to 
a  reappearance  in  society. 

Dorothy  realized  that  Trescotte's  fears  were  not 
without  foundation  when  she  found  that  certain 
people  who  had  formerly  smiled  sweetly  upon  her, 
who  had  stepped  out  of  their  way  to  be  nice  to  her, 
now  discovered  something  of  interest  in  the  opposite- 
direction  when  they  met  her.  Of  course  all  this 
hurt  her,  but  she  dismissed  it  philosophically.  But 
she  was  to  undergo  one  ordeal  she  had  not  ex 
pected.  She  attended  an  afternoon  symphony 
concert  at  the  Music  Hall.  Something  had  pre- 


354  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

vented  Trescotte  from  accompanying  her,  and  she 
was  alone.  As  she  passed  through  the  lobbies, 
crowded  with  those  who  a  month  previously  would 
have  made  her  passage  one  of  delay  and  difficulty 
by  their  salutations,  she  could  not  observe  a  single 
welcoming  or  friendly  face.  Upon  the  contrary, 
acquaintances  looked  over  her  head,  and  old  friends 
turned  their  backs  upon  her.  Stung  to  the  quick 
as  she  was,  her  pride  and  lofty  spirit  served  her. 
If  there  was  heightened  color  in  her  face,  there 
was  regal  haughtiness  in  her  manner.  She  swept 
through  the  mass  of  skirts  with  a  superb  arrogance 
that  would  have  delighted  her  mother,  and  wrung 
the  heart  strings  of  her  husband,  for  he  would  have 
known  what  it  had  cost  her  to  carry  herself  so 
bravely.  This  was  the  culmination  of  the  slights 
and  humiliations,  and  she  knew  now  she  had  been 
sent  to  Coventry.  Of  course  she  had  expected  it; 
she  had  steeled  herself  for  it  ever  since  that  day 
when  the  revelation  was  made,  but  it  was  so  much 
harder  to  bear  than  she  had  thought  it  would  be.  It 
is  all  very  well  to  sit  in  the  quiet  of  your  chamber  and 
defy  the  world.  It  is  very  easy,  then.  But  when 
you  feel  its  contempt,  what  a  different  thing  it  is! 
How  large  the  world  is  then,  and  how  small  you 
are ! 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  observed  Dorothy's  passage  to 
her  box.  Her  point  of  observance  was  too  remote 
to  have  permitted  her  to  have  saluted  Dorothy,  if 
she  had  desired  to  do  so.  But  she  clapped  her 
hands  together  lightly  several  times,  causing  an  at- 


MRS.   TREVOR-ALLEN S  INTRIGUE.  155 

tendant  squire  to  ask  if  she  was  indulging  in  a  pre 
paratory  canter  for  applause  in  the  box. 

"  No,"  replied  the  incomprehensibility,  "  I  am 
merely  relieving  my  overcharged  feelings.  I  am 
delighted  with  the  delicious  way  I  have  been 
snubbed." 

"  You  have  been  snubbed?  "  inquired  the  youthful 
admirer,  looking  around  very  fiercely  as  if  he  would 
resent  the  snubbing. 

"  Yes  ;  I,  as  one  of  my  order,"  replied  the  viva 
cious  young  matron.  "  But  don't  endanger  your 
mind  by  trying  to  understand  me.  On  the  contrary, 
find  Tracey  Harte  for  me.  I  will  remain  here." 

"  Am  I,  then,  to  be  dismissed  ?  "  dolefully  asked 
the  youth. 

"  No.  You  shall  attend  me  to  my  box,  but 
Tracey  must  do  something  for  me." 

The  young  adorer  of  young  married  women  was 
easily  found.  What  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  wanted  him 
to  do  was  evidently  a  secret,  for  she  took  him  aside 
to  communicate  her  commands.  Moreover,  it  was 
something  at  which  he  rebelled,  for  he  replied 
aloud  : 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  my  mother  and 
sisters  have  gone  that  way,  too." 

"  Ah,  charming  ! "  said  the  lady  with  the  most 
insolent  drawl  she  could  assume.  "  And  you  have 
such  ideas  as  they  will  permit  you  to  have  !  I  make 
it  a  point  to  select  as  my  friends,  men.  I  shall 
regret  to  know  that  your  visits  upon  me  have 
ceased." 


156  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

No  man  can  endure  the  contempt  of  the  woman 
he  admires.  Tracey  Harte  wilted. 

"Your  threatened  punishment  is  too  great! "he 
cried.  "  I  yield." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  with  it  the  ravishing 
smile  a  woman,  who  has  won  a  victory  over  that 
poor  thing  called  man,  always  bestows  as  a  healing 
balm,  and  whispered  : 

"  You  are  learning  to  make  love,  Tracey." 

Then  she  gave  her  arm  to  the  youth  who  had 
been  patiently  waiting  for  her,  as  Tracey,  a  good  deal 
troubled,  turned  from  her.  But  at  the  moment  she 
saw  an  arrival  which  filled  her  with  joy  and  surprise. 
The  arrival  was  the  Countess  Malcolm — her  dearest 
friend,  the  playmate  of  her  child  days,  the  confidante 
of  her  girl  hours,  the  partner  of  her  pranks,  and  the 
participant  in  all  her  escapades,  whose  bridesmaid 
she  had  been  when  the  Earl  of  Malcolm  was  wed. 
With  an  abandon  which  would  have  been  deemed 
vulgar  in  a  daughter  of  the  people,  she  flung  her 
arms  about  the  American  graft  upon  English  stalk, 
to  be  received  with  the  same  effusiveness.  Out  of 
the  whirl  of  kisses  and  "  When  did  you  comes,"  and 
"  How  long  have  you  been  heres,"  the  fact  appeared, 
that,  contrary  to  the  generally  accepted  notion,  the 
Earl  of  Malcolm  had  an  idea,  which  was  music, 
Though  their  yacht  had  only  arrived  in  port  during 
the  previous  night,  the  earl,  having  learned  that 
Paderewski  was  to  play  that  afternoon,  was 
determined  to  hear  him. 

As  they  parted,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  seized  of  a 


MRS.   TREVOR-ALLEN'S  INTRIGUE.  157 

sudden  thought  and,  turning  back,  rapidly  communi 
cated  it  to  Lady  Malcolm,  who,  to  judge  by  her 
reception  of  it,  was  delighted. 

The  intrigue  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  engaged  in 
was  made  apparent  at  the  close  of  the  first  part  of 
the  programme.  Rising  from  her  seat  in  her  box, 
only  less  conspicuous  than  the  one  occupied  by 
Mrs.  Trescotte,  she  made  her  way  on  the  arm  of 
Tracey  Harte,  who  had  come  to  her,  across  the 
house.  People  who  were  watching  her — nearly 
all  occupying  the  tier — opined  she  was  going 
to  the  box  of  Lady  Malcolm,  who  had  been  soon 
discovered  after  her  entrance,  and  whose  friend 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  known  to  be.  What  was 
their  surprise,  then,  and  horror,  too,  when  they  saw 
her  enter  the  Trescotte  box  ! 

Dorothy,  apparently  absorbed  in  her  programme 
but  really  in  her  own  bitter  thoughts,  was  startled, 
and  not  well  pleased,  with  the  intrusion.  But  her 
visitor  was  not  to  be  rebuffed. 

"  I  saw  you  enter,"  she  said,  "  in  the  lobby,  you 
know,  but  I  was  too  far  away  to  salute  you.  So  I 
have  taken  the  first  opportunity  to  come  to  you  to 
complain  of  your  treatment  of  me." 

"My  treatment  of  you?"  inquired  Dorothy, 
instantly  appreciating  the  meaning  of  the  ostenta 
tious  visit,  and  ready  to  cry  with  a  right  good  will 
when  she  saw  the  sympathy  and  kindness  shining  in 
the  blue  eyes  of  her  visitor. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lively  lady.  "  Now,  don't  try 
to  think  up  excuses  ;  I  will  accept  none.  It  was 


158  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

downright  shabby.  Three  times  have  I  called  and 
three  times  have  I  been  turned  from  your  doors. 
Oh,  I  know,"  she  rattled  on,  to  enable  Dorothy  to 
take  possession  of  herself,"  I  know  you  have  thrown 
society  over,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
throw  old  friends  over,  who," — there  was  a  strange 
break  in  her  voice  and  a  strange  change  in  the 
tone — "  who  love  you." 

Dorothy  was  not  yet  in  possession  of  herself,  and 
not  daring  to  trust  herself  to  speak,  she  furtively 
sought  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and  pressed  it 
warmly.  The  young  matron  rattled  on  : 

"  I  am  coming  to  call  to-morrow,  and  if  I  am 
refused  again  I  shall  take  the  highly  respectable 
Downs  by  the  ear  and  command  him  to  lead  me  to 
his  mistress." 

Dorothy  laughed  a  little  hysterically  as  she 
replied  : 

"  I  must  respect  Downs'  ears  and  instruct  him  to 
bring  you  to  me  when  you  call." 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  had  not  been  oblivious  that  her 
presence  in  that  box  had  created  a  commotion  in 
the  other  boxes.  Tracey  Harte  had  observed  the 
commotion  and,  though  uncomfortable,  bore  the 
ordeal  well,  in  fact  a  little  pleased  with  the  idea  that 
it  was  rather  devilish  than  otherwise.  The  young 
woman  who  had  made  the  situation  improved  her 
opportunity.  Taking  her  lorgnette,  with  insolent 
elegance  she  swept  the  tier  of  boxes.  From  time  to 
time,  as  she  recognized  acquaintances  gazing  in  her 
direction,  she  lowered  her  glasses  and  bowed  so 


MRS.   TREVOR-ALLEN'S  INTRIGUE.  159 

pronouncedly  that  to  have  refused  to  have 
returned  the  salutation  would  have  been  no  less 
than  an  insult.  Suddenly  and  with  inimitable  art, 
she  cried : 

"  Why,  there's  Agatha — I  beg  her  pardon,  Lady 
Agatha  Malcolm.  Tracy,  go  at  once  to  her  box, 
presenting  my  name  and  the  compliments  of  Mrs. 
Trescotte,  and  ask  her  here." 

"  But,  Lou,"  protested  Dorothy,  dropping  uncon 
sciously  into  the  old  school  day  name,  "  perhaps  it 
may  not  be  agreeable  to  Lady  Malcolm  to  visit  me." 

"  Poh ! "  contemptuously  answered  the  young 
matron,  brushing  aside  the  protest.  "  Tracey  Harte, 
do  as  I  bid  you.  Vanish  !  " 

As  the  young  gentleman  disappeared,  Mrs.  Tre 
vor-Allen  continued  in  suspicious  haste,  "  She  knows 
all  that  any  of  us  know,  and  when  she  comes,  if  you 
Lady  Malcolm  her,  she'll  not  forgive  you.  It  is  all 
very  well  for  those  who  were  not  her  intimate 
friends,  but  for  one  who  was  as  intimate  as  you 
were,  '  Aggie  '  or  '  Ag  '  is  what  she  wants  to  hear." 

By  this  time  Dorothy  had  realized  that  the 
episode  was  one  of  careful  arrangement — that  the 
young  lady  beside  her  had  witnessed  her  treatment 
in  the  lobbies,  and  had  determined  to  defeat  an 
organized  humiliation  of  herself.  Though  her 
sensitive  soul  shrank  from  so  public  an  exhibition, 
Dorothy  felt  that  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
demanded  that  she  should  assist  her  ally  in  her 
impulsive  and  generous  effort,  and  she  also  thought 
it  would  be  no  more  difficult  to  go  through  with 


i6o 

than  to  sit  alone  and  unnoticed  in  the  box,  con* 
scious  that  the  attempted  humiliation  had  been 
successful. 

The  commotion  became  a  hubbub  when  society 
saw  Lady  Malcolm  on  the  arm  of  Tracey  Harte, 
with  the  earl,  very  distinguished  looking,  following 
leisurely  behind,  conveyed  to  the  Trescotte  box, 
and  saw  the  effusive  kiss  the  American  countess 
bestowed  upon  the  lips  of  her  old  school  friend. 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen's  triumph  was  now  complete. 
With  that  smile  of  sweet  innocence,  which  Lady 
Malcolm  said  always  indicated  mischief,  she  turned 
to  listen  to  the  next  part  of  the  programme. 

When  the  concert  was  over  the  party  descended 
to  the  pavement,  Dorothy  on  the  arm  of  the  earl, 
and  so  admirably  did  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  maneuver, 
that  Dorothy  drove  Lord  and  Lady  Malcolm  to 
their  hotel.  Tracey  Harte  was  rewarded  with  a 
seat  in  the  carriage  of  the  young  matron. 

If  Trescotte  had  been  a  woman,  tears,  for  a  com 
plexity  of  reasons,  would  have  stood  in  his  eyes 
when  he  listened  to  Dorothy's  recital  of  her  after 
noon's  experience.  As  it  was  he  was  very  tender 
toward  Dorothy.  He  left  a  card  for  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen  in  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  called  on  Dorothy  the  next 
morning,  and  was  conveyed  by  Downs  to  his  mis 
tress.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  vivacious 
young  lady  invited  herself,  Lord  and  Lady  Mai- 
colm,  and  Tracey  Harte  to  dinner  with  the  Tres- 
cotte's  the  following  week.  She  took  supreme 


MRS.   TREVOR-ALLEN'S  INTRIGUE.  161 

satisfaction  in  informing  young  Beestonmy,  after 
she  had  sent  her  regrets  for  his  mother's  dinner  on 
the  same  night,  that  really,  you  know,  she  couldn't 
decline  the  Trescotte  invitation  to  meet  Lord  and 
Lady  Malcolm — the  Trescottes  were  so  exclusive, 
entertained  so  rarely,  and  then  only  the  very  nicest 
people,  that  really,  you  know,  an  invitation  from 
them  was  like  a  command  from  royalty. 

All  of  which  coming  to  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  made  the  heart  of  that  good  lady  warm  to  the 
young  woman,  though  she  had  heard  of  the  blue 
ribbon  remark.  She  was  heard  by  her  husband  to 
say  that,  with  such  a  lieutenant,  if  Trescotte  were 
not  so  foolishly  obstinate,  she  could  before  the 
end  of  the  season  make  everyone  bow  down  to  the 
Trescottes.  Perhaps  it  was  Trescotte's  refusal  to  be 
drawn  into  the  contest  that  caused  the  gossip  to 
swell  higher  and  higher.  If  one  won't  fight  back, 
one  soon  becomes  the  under  dog.  All  this  time 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
Trescotte  house. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MR.  ADAMS  ARRIVES. 

OSTRACISM  was  not  prevented.  Neither  the 
efforts  of  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  the  dinner  to  the 
Earl  and  Countess  of  Malcolm,  the  intimacy  of 
those  noble  people  with  the  Trescottes,  nor  the 
open  countenance  of  the  bishop,  deterred  society 
from  ignoring  the  young  people. 

If  Dorothy  grieved  over  this  ostracism,  she  never 
murmured.  She  realized  that  there  were  other  peo 
ple  than  those  who  arrogated  all  the  superiority, 
who  brought  as  much  refinement  and  culture  and 
far  more  intelligence  and  accomplishment  to  their 
intercourse  with  people,  and  who  were  wholly  indif 
ferent  to  the  opinions  of  that  society  which  was 
bent  on  ignoring  her.  A  few  of  her  old  friends, 
chief  among  whom  was  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  defied 
society  and  laughed  at  it. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  never  was  so  haughty  and  arro 
gant  as  she  was  this  winter,  and  never  gave  such 
elegant  entertainments,  nor  such  exclusive  ones. 

To  all  outward  appearances  the  lives  of  the  Tres- 
cottes  were  happy  and  pleasant.  None  of  the 
rational  pleasures  which  education  and  wealth 

161 


MR.  ADAMS  ARRIVES.  163 

could  bring  did  they  deny  themselves,  and  they 
ignored  society  as  calmly  as  society  ignored  them. 
December  found  them  looking  forward  to  an  event 
of  importance. 

Early  in  the  month  Mr.  Adams,  whose  coming 
had  been  long  expected  by  Mr.  Magrane,  arrived. 
Absent  for  many  months  upon  the  Pacific  Coast,  he 
was  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  events  detailed 
in  the  previous  chapters.  That  he  had  once  con 
sulted  Mr.  Magrane  as  to  his  own  marital  position, 
was  warrant  to  the  lawyer  to  open  the  subject 
again. 

"  I  seem  to  be  the  pivot  on  which  all  turns," 
Adams  said  after  the  lawyer  had  finished  a  recital  of 
the  events  flowing  from  his  discovery.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  thought  I  had  decided  upon  a 
policy.  But  what  you  tell  me  sends  me  all  adrift 
again.  I  hold  nothing  against  Mr.  Trescotte.  He 
acted  very  handsomely  in  that  Swiss  affair — a  little 
foolishly  perhaps " 

"  He  admits  that,"  broke  in  Mr.  Magrane,  "  and 
as  well,  very  youthfully." 

"  Oh,"  returned  Adams,  "  his  intention  was  all 
right.  He  wanted  to  save  Elsie  from  the  conse 
quences  of  her  own  wild  act.  The  fault  was  with 
the  Hallocks — father  and  son — they  are  birds  of 
prey." 

"  Do  you  mean  they  laid  a  trap  for  him  ?  "  asked 
the  lawyer,  reverting  to  an  early  suspicion. 

"  No ;  not  a  trap  exactly.  But  they  quickly  com- 
prchended  a  situation  in  which  they  saw  oppor- 


1 64  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

tunity  for  an  advantageous  alliance,"  said  Adams. 
"  You  see,  I've  often  talked  with  Elsie  about  this 
matter.  You  may  blame  Elsie  for  not  insisting  that 
she  was  already  married.  But  they  had  persuaded 
her  that  she  was  not,  that  no  real  marriage  had 
taken  place,  and  she  was  so  young  and  innocent, 
indeed,  so  ignorant,  that  she  was  wax  in  their  hands. 
The  truth  is,  Mr.  Magrane,  you  can't  make  a  woman 
believe  that  a  marriage  is  a  marriage  unless  it  is 
solemnized  by  a  clergyman.  They  don't  know  and 
don't  care  about  the  civil  contract  side  of  it.  It  is 
either  a  sacrament,  or  it  is  nothing.  If  you  can 
persuade  a  woman  to  join  you  under  the  civil  con- 
tract  idea,  you  can  go  further  and  persuade  her  to 
join  you  without  marriage  of  any  kind.  That's  what 
I  have  come  to  believe.  I  thought  I  had  persuaded 
Elsie  that  a  marriage  by  a  magistrate  was  as  good 
as  any  kind  of  a  marriage,  but  deep  down  in  her 
heart  she  didn't  believe  it.  She  showed  that,  by 
teasing  me  for  a  marriage  by  a  clergyman,  the  first 
four  or  five  years.  That  was  one  of  the  troubles 
between  us — the  beginning  of  them,  in  fact.  You 
see,  Mr.  Magrane,  I  couldn't  consent  to  that.  If  I 
had,  I  would  have  admitted  a  doubt  as  to  the  regu 
larity  of  our  previous  civil  marriage.  Then  logically 
I  would  have  had  to  admit  the  priority  of  that  Swiss 
marriage  with  Trescotte.  But  I  couldn't  make 
Elsie  see  it.  To  be  married  over  again  by  a  clergy, 
man  was  the  remedy  for  all  ills." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  lawyer,  much  interested  in  the 
new  tangle  Adams  was  developing.     "  You  would 


MK.  ADAMS  ARRIVES.  165 

have  admitted  the  invalidity  of  the  civil,  by  con 
senting  to  the  performance  of  a  churchly,  marriage. 
Yet,  if  you  had  yielded  to  quiet  the  qualms  of  con- 
science  of  Mrs.  Adams,  I  do  not  think  you  would 
have  been  troubled." 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  would  get  into  trouble  by  it. 
Or,  if  I  didn't,  Elsie  would." 

Before  this,  the  lawyer  had  noticed  a  tenderness 
when  Adams  spoke  of  Elsie. 

"  Trescotte,"  continued  Adams,  moving  his  chair 
closer  to  the  lawyer's  desk  so  that  he  could  lean  his 
arm  upon  it,  "  acted  very  handsomely  toward  me 
when  in  Berlin — the  time  I  carried  off  Elsie,  you 
know.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  for  us  all 
if  I  hadn't,  but  that  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that 
Trescotte  was  very  manly  and  straightforward.  I 
thought,  then,  that  his  action  was  due  to  his  belief 
that  he  had  been  badly  treated  by  the  Hallocks. 
But  when  I  came  to  talk  with  Elsie,  and  learned  all 
there  was  to  be  learned,  I  felt  that  it  was  because  he 
saw  Elsie  was  really  fond  of  me,  and  I  of  her.  The 
same  sort  of  chivalry,  you  know,  that  made  him 
marry  Elsie.  On  her  part,  Elsie  has  never  accounted 
satisfactorily  to  herself  why  she  did  not  tell  Tres 
cotte  of  that  marriage  in  Buffalo,  before  I  turned 
up.  She  tried  to,  that  day  they  were  married  in 
Switzerland,  but  then  she  was  silenced  by  her  father. 
You  would  suppose  that  she  would  have  told  him 
after  she  got  from  under  her  father's  influence.  But 
I  suppose  then  she  could  not  summon  the  courage, 
and  so  let  things  drift.  Women  are  not  like  men. 


1 66  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

They  say  women  can't  keep  a  secret.  What  rot! 
Give  them  a  secret  of  their  own  and  they'll  preserve 
it  under  the  rack.  Poor  Elsie  !  " 

Again  that  note  of  tenderness  and  defense. 

"  You  say,"  asked  Adams,  "  that  the  woman  Tres- 
cotte  married  this  year  is  a  fine  woman?" 

"  One  in  ten  thousand,"  said  the  lawyer.  "A  brave, 
loyal,  true-hearted  woman." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  her,"  commented  Adams. 

"  I  presume,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  Trescotte  could 
straighten  out  all  this  confusion  by  suing  Mrs. 
Adams  for  divorce,  but  that  would  involve  every 
body — you,  Mrs.  Adams,  the  Trescottes,  the  Hal- 
locks — in  a  scandal." 

"  D —  -  the  Hallocks,"  cried  Adams  energetically, 
"  but  I  wouldn't  like  Elsie  to  be  tortured  by  it. 
You  see,  Mr.  Magrane,  the  trouble  is,  that  to  the 
world  Elsie  would  come  out  of  such  a  suit  the  worst 
of  all,  and  yet  no  more  to  blame  than  anybody  else 
who  is  mixed  up  in  the  confounded  muddle." 

He  rested  his  head  on  his  hand  as  he  thought. 

"  She'd  be  all  right,"  he  went  on,  as  if  answering 
his  own  thoughts, "  if  it  wasn't  for  her  family.  They 
keep  her  stirred  up  all  the  time." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  asked  the  lawyer,  pur 
pose  sounding  in  his  voice,  "  that  it  was  her  family 
which  made  the  trouble  between  yourself  and 
wife?" 

"  You  keep  saying  my  wife,"  laughed  Adams,  "  but 
I  suppose  she  must  be  distinguished  someway.  No, 
I  can't  say  that  and  be  truthful.  They  contributed 


MR.  ADAMS  ARRIVES.  167 

largely  to  the  trouble,  though.  I  think  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  them  we  might  have  settled  our  differences 
in  our  own  way.  The  first  trouble  came  from  Elsie's 
pestering  me  to  be  married  again.  Perhaps  I  was 
foolish,  but  you  see  I  resented  those  five  months 
she  spent  with  Trescotte.  Her  persistent  pestering 
never  let  it  get  out  of  my  head." 

"  But  you  condoned  those  five  months  when  you 
took  her  from  Trescotte,"  urged  the  lawyer. 

"  That's  all  right.  I  know  I  did.  And  having 
done  so,  I  should  stand  by  it.  That's  all  right.  I 
know  I  should.  I  suppose  if  I  wasn't  prepared  to 
do  so,  I  should  have  left  her  where  she  was.  But 
you  know  when  a  man  wants  a  certain  woman,  he 
wants  her,  and  he'll  sacrifice  everything,  go  through 
everything,  to  get  her ;  forget  everything  but  the 
thought  of  having  her.  It's  a  kind  of  insanity,  I 
suppose.  At  all  events,  that's  how  it  was  with  me, 
and  the  opposition  of  the  Hallocks  made  me  all  the 
more  determined  to  get  her.  But  I  kept  this  feel 
ing  of  resentment  against  those  five  months  with 
Trescotte  from  Elsie  until  the  first  baby  came — the 
boy.  The  fact  was — well,  hang  it !  it  was  Trescotte's 
boy,  and  that  was  all  there  was  about  it.  There  was 
the  living,  ever-present  evidence  of  the  five  months. 
I  confess  I  hated  the  youngster,  and  I  presume  the 
more  I  hated  it  the  more  Elsie's  mother  heart 
pitied  and  loved  the  helpless  thing." 

A  strange  expression  stole  over  the  lawyer's  face, 
and  he  partially  turned  to  his  desk  and  gathered  the 
scattered  papers  together.  Adams  stopped,  but  as 


168  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

Mr.  Magrane  reassumed  his  listening  attitude  he 
went  on : 

"  I  imagine  I  was  rather  a  brute.  But  there  it 
was,  and  I  wasn't  perfect — only  human,  you  know. 
I  suppose  she  wanted  sympathy,  and  went  to  her 
mother  for  it ;  the  mother  went  with  the  story  to 
her  husband  ;  Hallock  came  to  me  ;  I  resented  his 
interference  and  had  a  row  with  him.  Well,  the 
result  was  we  went  apart." 

The  two  remained  silent  much  longer  than  either 
supposed.  There  was  an  anxious  frown  and  an  ex 
pression  of  sadness  on  Adams'  face.  Finally  the 
lawyer  said  : 

"  Your  wife  expresses  strong  affection  for  you — • 
has  done  so  within  a  short  time  to  my  knowledge." 

"  You  keep  on  saying  my  wife.  Yet,  she  isn't, 
you  know,"  said  Adams  half  inquiringly. 

"  I  think  she  is,"  replied  Mr.  Magrane  signifi 
cantly. 

Mr.  Adams  was  aroused  into  mental  activity. 

"  You  mean  something,"  he  said  sharply,  "  some 
thing  different  from  what  you  said  when  I  consulted 
you  before." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  I  told  you 
then  I  was  expressing  an  opinion  without  much  con 
sideration.  Since  then  a  new  phase  of  the  question 
has  been  presented  to  me,  and  I  have  concluded 
that  you  are  still  truly  married  to  Mrs.  Adams." 

The  dominating  expression  upon  the  face  of  Mr. 
Adams  was  that  of  surprise,  but  there  was  also 
another  blended  with  it,  but  whether  of  satisfaction 


MR.  ADAMS  ARRIVES.  169 

or  dissatisfaction  it  was  difficult  for  Mr.  Magrane  to 
tell.  Perplexity,  however,  made  its  appearance  as 
the  lawyer  developed  the  idea  of  a  common  law 
marriage  of  himself.  When  Mr.  Magrane  had 
finished  he  waited  for  a  remark,  but  as  none  was 
forthcoming,  he  said  ; 

"  The  establishment  of  the  fact  of  a  common  law 
marriage  between  yourself  and  Mrs.  Adams  would 
simplify  matters  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte." 

"Which  you  are  anxious  to  do?"  said  Adams 
somewhat  jealously. 

"  Yes,"  simply  replied  the  lawyer ;  "  but  not  at 
your  expense,  or  of  that  of  right  or  justice." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Adams,  "Trescotte  can  bring 
some  sort  of  a  suit  to  get  the  matter  determined." 

"  I  don't  think  he  will,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "At 
all  events,  not  with  my  advice." 

"  Suppose  I  won't "  but  Adams  stopped  short 

as  another  thought  crossed  his  mind.  "  Elsie  may 
think  of  bringing  suit  against  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  it.  Mrs.  Adams'  sole  hope 
is  a  restoration  of  relationship  with  you.  Her  fear 
is  that  you  will  bring  suit.  She  loves  you." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  that's  settled.  I  won't  involve 
her  in  any  scandal.  She's  had  trouble  enough." 

He  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  said : 

"  I  like  that  man  Trescotte,  always  did.  Of 
course  it  is  absurd  after  what  I  have  said,  but  it  is 
because  of  the  plucky  way  he  tried  to  save  Elsie 
from  the  consequences  of  her  wild  freak.  You  say 
he  loves  the  woman  he  married  ?  " 


1 7°  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM t 

"  I  never  saw  deeper  devotion." 

Adams  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  balancing  his 
cane  on  his  forefinger,  a  trick  he  was  very  expert  at, 
and  which  was  always  indicative  of  deep  thinking. 

"  Suppose,"  he  asked,  "  I  refuse  to  bring  suit  and 
that  Elsie  does,  too,  what  is  the  result?" 

"  Matters  must  stand  as  they  are,  I  suppose.  So 
long  as  you  are  separated  from  Mrs.  Adams,  main 
taining  the  idea  that  the  civil  marriage  was  invalid, 
there  must  always  be  a  doubt  as  to  the  regularity  of 
the  Trescotte  marriage." 

"  Hum.  But  the  separation  took  place  before  I 
believed  our  marriage  to  be  invalid,  and  Elsie  knows 
nothing  about  it  as  yet." 

"But  she  does." 

"Who  told  her?    You?  "bluntly  asked  Adams. 

Mr.  Magrane  related  the  story  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
visit  to  Mrs.  Adams,  adding  that  it  was  done  with 
out  his,  Magrane's,  knowledge.  The  other  had 
listened  attentively. 

"  So,"  he  cried  quite  excitedly,  his  eyes  sparkling. 
"  Tried  to  get  Elsie  to  set  up  a  claim  to  Trescotte, 
eh  ?  The  little  woman  refused  ?  That's  like  her. 
Hearts  are  always  trumps  with  Elsie.  I  would  have 
bet  in  advance  that  that  was  just  what  she  would 
do." 

"  She  told  Mrs.  Courtenay  she  would  do  nothing 
to  increase  the  misery  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte, 
and  that  she  loved  you  too  well  to  think  of  anyone 
else  than  you  as  a  husband." 

"  Well,  what  can  I  do?" 


MR.  ADAMS  ARRIVES.  17! 

"You  can  accept  your  marriage  as  true  and 
binding  and  resume  marital  relations  with  Mrs. 
Adams." 

"  But  the  boy ;  hang  it,  Magrane !  I  can't  go  on 
pretending  to  be  its  father,  and  I  must,  unless  I 
reflect  on  Elsie.  I  could  get  over  the  whole  affair 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  boy,  for  I'll  confess  the  longer 
I'm  away  from  Elsie  the  more  I  long  for  her.  But 
I  can't  get  over  the  boy." 

"  It's  difficult  to  advise  you  on  that  point." 

The  lawyer  played  with  the  locket  on  his  chain 
as  he  tried  to  see  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 
Finally  he  said  : 

"  See  here,  Adams,  why  not  go  to  Trescotte  and 
have  a  free  talk  with  him  ?  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Adams,  somewhat  startled. 

"Something  may  come  of  it." 

"  I've  got  nothing  to  ask  of  him  ;  he  has  of  me. 
He  ought  to  come  to  me." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  But  what 
Trescotte  has  to  ask  is  so  great  that,  sensitive  as  he 
is,  he  would  shrink  from  seeking  you.  It  would  be 
a  generous  act  to  meet  him  more  than  halfway. 
An  interview  might  lead  to  good  results.  Let  me 
arrange  to  have  you  meet  him  at  three  to-morrow, 
and  then  come  to  me  and  see  if  there  is  not  a 
straight  road  out  of  this  tangle." 

Adams  after  some  demurral  consented,  wonder 
ing  what  Mr.  Magrane  hoped  to  gain  by  such  an 
interview. 


CHAPTER  V. 
FORTUNE'S  FANTASTIC  SPORTS. 

AN  hour  before  Mr.  Adams  was  to  meet  Mr, 
Trescotte,  as  arranged  by  Mr.  Magrane,  a  young 
woman  alighted  from  a  public  hack  and  climbed  the 
steps  of  the  Trescotte  residence.  A  lad  of  eight  or 
nine  years  accompanied  her.  When  the  door  was 
opened  to  her,  and  she  asked  for  the  lady  of  the 
house,  she  was  told  that  Mrs.  Trescotte  was  not  at 
home. 

Evidently  she  accepted  the  phrase  as   an  euphe- 


"My  call  is  on  business,  not  a  social  one,"  she 
said. 

The  servant,  considering  it  a  case  for  the  con 
sideration  of  higher  authority,  turned  her  into  the 
reception  room  and  disappeared.  A  moment  later 
Downs,  self-respectful  and  deferential,  came  and 
repeated  the  information  with  the  addition  that 
his  mistress  had  gone  out  in  the  carriage  and  was 
expected  home  every  moment. 

"I  have  come  a  long  distance,"  explained  the 
young  woman,  "and  my  time  is  limitedo" 

Downs,  with  that  expertness  born  of  long  and 


FORTUNE'S  FANTASTIC  SPORTS.  173 

varied  experience,  determined  that  the  visitor  was  a 
lady,  and  suggested  the  propriety  of  waiting.  This 
was  what  the  lady  wanted,  and  Downs,  thinking  she 
was  wearied,  and  perceiving  that  she  was  cold, 
brought  her  a  glass  of  wine,  a  thoughtful  attention 
which  emboldened  the  lady  to  ask  if  Mr.  Trescotte 
was  at  home  or  abroad.  Downs  began  to  have 
doubts  of  the  wisdom  of  his  suggestion  when  the 
lady,  on  being  informed  that  the  master  of  the  house 
was  within  doors,  and  would  doubtless  see  her  if  she 
desired  it,  showed  so  much  agitation  in  her  dis 
claimer  of  such  desire.  But  having  doubts  is  not 
always  having  warrant  for  action,  so  Downs  did 
nothing  more  than  draw  the  curtains  back  and  let 
in  a  little  more  sunshine  through  those  windows  that 
opened  upon  Central  Park. 

The  lady  waited.  Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  passed 
and  there  was  a  diversion.  A  quick  step  in  the  hall, 
and  Trescotte  entered  the  room.  Surprised  to  find 
an  occupant,  he  hesitated  on  the  threshold  an 
instant,  then  bowed  courteously  and  crossed  the 
room  for  the  book  he  sought.  Had  he  closely 
observed  the  lady  then,  he  would  have  seen  that  the 
color  left  her  face  on  his  entrance,  then  surged  back, 
suffusing  it.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  room  with 
out  speech,  but  he  stopped,  bending  a  perplexed 
glance  upon  the  lady. 

"I  presume  you  are  awaiting  the  return  of  Mrs. 
Trescotte?" 

The  lady  bowed  in  response. 

"I  do  not  think  she  will  be  long  now,"  he  said 


174  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMt 

without  losing  his  perplexed  expression.  "Can  I 
serve  you  in  any  way?" 

Replying  in  the  negative,  the  lady  thanked  him, 
but  in  so  low  and  strained  a  voice  that  the  child 
looked  up  at  his  mother  in  surprise.  Trescotte  left 
the  room,  his  face  showing  that  memory  suggested 
he  should  know  the  lady,  but  had  failed  to  tell  him 
who  she  was. 

Then  followed  a  period  of  undisturbed  waiting, 
during  which  time  the  lady  had  ample  time  to 
recover  from  the  agitation  into  which  she  had  been 
thrown  by  Trescotte's  entrance,  but  which  time  she 
spent  in  drawing  the  boy  to  her  and  earnestly  study 
ing  his  features.  By  and  by  a  carriage  was  rapidly 
driven  to  the  front,  and  the  watchful  Buttons  threw 
open  the  door  to  admit  two  ladies.  Downs  appeared 
and  informed  one  of  them  that  a  lady  was  awaiting 
her  in  the  reception  room.  All  of  which  the  waiting 
lady  could  hear  through  the  open  doors,  but  could 
not  see. 

"Go  to  my  room,  Lou,  and  let  Marie  give  you 
some  writing  materials,"  she  heard  one  lady  say. 
"And,  Downs,  let  Connor  prepare  himself  to  carry 
a  note  to  the  address  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  will  give 
him." 

The  owner  of  the  voice  entered  the  reception 
room,  holding  in  her  hand  the  card  Downs  had  given 
her. 

"Mrs.  Adams?" 

She  was  smiling  and  pleasant. 

"Mrs.  Trescotte,  I  believe?" 


FORTUNE'S  FANTASTIC  SPORTS.  i?5 

The  visitor  arose,  looking  with  keen  but  modest 
scrutiny  upon  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"Pray  do  not  rise,"  said  Dorothy.  :<  Pardon  me,  if 
I  go  to  the  fire.  It  is  very  cold,  is  it  not?" 

Mrs.  Adams,  again  much  agitated,  murmured  that 
she  had  found  it  so,  had  been  much  chilled,  but 
the  servant  had  thoughtfully  given  her  a  glass  of 
wine. 

This  exchange  was  followed  by  an  embarrassing 
silence.  Dorothy  drew  off  her  gloves,  holding  her 
pink  and  white  fingers  to  the  fire,  wondering  the 
while  who  her  visitor  could  be,  and  what  her  busi 
ness  could  be  about.  Mrs.  Adams  nervously  turned 
her  pocket-book  over  and  over.  The  child,  feeling 
strange,  hid  behind  his  mother,  peeping  out  to  watch 
the  elegant  lady  bending  over  the  coals.  At  length 
Dorothy,  who  had  been  expecting  her  visitor  to 
open  her  business,  began  to  think  that  distance 
restrained  her,  and  so  took  a  chair  nearer. 

"I  fear  I  have  given  you  a  long  wait,"  she  said  in 
the  way  of  re-opening  the  conversation. 

"I  was  in  hopes,"  began  the  other,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  a  little,  "that  my  card  would  convey  such 
knowledge  of  myself  as  to  relieve  me  of  the  embar 
rassment  of  telling  who  I  am." 

Dorothy,  flinging  a  quick,  intense  look  upon  Mrs. 
Adams,  hastily  left  her  seat,  and  going  to  the  mantel 
took  from  it  the  card  she  had  laid  upon  it  and 
eagerly  scanned  it.  She  moved  forward  as  if  to 
rejoin  her  visitor,  stood  still,  in  unbounded  amaze 
ment.  She  breathed  rather  than  articulated : 


176  SHOULD   SEE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

"You  are "  She  got  no  farther.  She  was 

lost  in  a  multitude  of  conjecture. 

Mrs.  Adams  lifted  a  piteous,  appealing  face.  She 
had  found  something  condemning  in  Dorothy's 
manner. 

"Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  pleaded.  "I  am 
here  only  to  assure  you  of  my  sympathy  and  friend 
ship." 

"Angry  with  you?" 

All  the  rich  sympathy  of  Dorothy's  nature  had 
been  stirred  by  the  sweet  face  on  which  was  written 
so  much  suffering,  and  yearning  for  love  and  compas 
sion.  Her  tone  told  Mrs.  Adams  she  was  not  angry. 

"It  would  have  been  very  hard,"  continued  Elsie, 
as  she  wound  her  arm  about  the  boy,  who  had  crept 
to  her  knee,  "if  you  had  repulsed  me,  for  my  com 
ing  to  you  has  been  so  opposed." 

Unacquainted  with  the  purpose  of  her  visitor,  per 
plexed  in  her  endeavor  to  penetrate  its  meaning, 
and  embarrassed  by  the  strangeness  of  the  situation, 
which  even  yet  in  its  entirety  she  had  not  compre 
hended,  Dorothy  did  not  know  what  to  reply. 

"You  have  something  to  tell  me,"  she  finally  said. 

"After  all,  it  is  very  little,"  answered  Mrs.  Adams 
with  touching  simplicity.  "It  is  that  I  will  never 
harm  you,  or  do  anything  to  separate  you  from  the 
man  you  love." 

Dorothy  was  more  perplexed. 

"I  cannot  understand  you,"  she  cried,  and  in  her 
perplexity  her  voice  sounded  sharply,  as  she  was 
instantly  aware.  "There  is  something  to  be  ex* 


FORTUNE'S  FANTASTIC  SPORTS.  177 

plained,"  she  continued  in  a  gentler  tone,  "some 
thing  I  should  know.  But  this  is  not  the  place  for 
such  a  talk  as  we  should  have.  Come." 

But  where  should  they  go?  Her  own  room  was 
occupied  by  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen ;  in  the  library,  her 
husband  awaited  an  appointment ;  in  the  dining 
room,  the  servants  were  preparing  lunch ;  the  salon 
was  too  public.  The  music  room  was  the  only  place. 

"Come,"  she  said ;  "we  will  go  where  we  can  be 
safe  from  interruption." 

Mrs.  Adams  rose  to  follow,  and  stretched  forth  her 
hand  to  take  that  of  her  boy,  when  the  outer  door 
was  opened  and  a  man's  voice  was  heard  inquiring 
for  Mr.  Trescotte. 

Mrs.  Adams  stopped,  fairly  staggered,  and  caught 
the  back  of  the  chair,  and  bending  forward  listened 
with  halting  breath.  Dorothy  had  stopped  on  hear 
ing  the  voice,  but  only  to  permit  the  caller  to  pass 
through  the  hall  before  they  should  enter  it.  She 
turned  to  say  so  to  Mrs.  Adams,  when  she  was 
astounded  to  see  the  agitation  of  the  other. 

"Are  you  the  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Trescotte  at 
three?"  asked  the  servant. 

"Yes." 

The  servant  led  the  caller  down  the  hall.  They 
could  be  heard  but  hot  seen  from  the  reception  room. 

"Who  was  that?"  eagerly  asked  Mrs.  Adams,  even 
with  feverish  intensity. 

"I  do  not  know — a  caller  upon  Mr.  Trescotte,' 
was  Dorothy's  wondering  reply. 

"It   cannot  be — cannot   be   possible,"  exclaimed 


17*  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Mrs.  Adams,  relaxing  her  strained  attention,  now 
that  the  chance  of  a  rencounter  had  passed.  "I 
thought  it  was  my  husband's  voice,  but  that  is 
impossible — impossible." 

"Indeed,  I  should  think  so,"  replied  Dorothy  with 
a  reassuring  smile. 

It  was  remarkable  to  Dorothy,  that  Mrs.  Adams, 
who  bore  such  a  peculiar  relation  to  her  own  life, 
and  whom  she  had  never  expected  to  see,  should  be 
under  her  roof,  but  that  at  the  same  time  her  hus 
band,  Adams,  separated  a  year  from  his  wife,  should 
call  to  see  Mr.  Trescotte  when  the  wife  had  called 
to  see  her,  was  too  fantastical  even  for  the  happen, 
ings  of  chance. 

"Rest  assured,"  she  continued  kindly.  "The 
gentleman  who  passed  has  an  appointment  with  my 
husband.  Had  it  been  Mr.  Adams,  I  should  have 
known  it." 

But  Mr,  Trescotte,  uncertain  as  to  the  outcome 
of  the  interview  with  Mr.  Adams,  had  thought  it 
best  not  to  speak  of  it  to  his  wife.  So,  satisfying 
Elsie,  Dorothy  led  the  way  across  the  hall,  through 
the  salon,  into  the  music  room.  Here  she  sum. 
moned  a  servant  and,  bidding  him  to  prevent  inter- 
naption  and  to  beg  Mrs.  Trevor- Allen  to  excuse  her 
iox  a  short  time,  closed  the  doors. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   NEW  TANGLE. 

ADAMS  yielded  to  Mr.  Magrane's  suggestion 
reluctantly.  He  was  not  convinced  that  good  could 
result  from  an  interview.  The  trouble  was  that 
Adams  was  not  determined  upon  a  course.  He  was 
without  a  policy.  Enterprises  he  had  been  nursing 
a  long  time  had,  within  the  year,  come  to  fruition, 
and  he  had  accumulated  wealth.  The  administra 
tion  of  it  was  difficult,  because  of  the  uncertain  con 
ditions  of  his  marital  relations.  Viewing  divorce  as 
one  path  out  of  the  difficulty,  yet  he  shrank  from 
the  cutting  of  all  the  ties  binding  him  to  Elsie.  He 
had  gone  to  Mr.  Magrane  expecting  to  be  strength 
ened  toward  divorce  and  found  the  lawyer  advising 
reconciliation.  To  this  he  was  more  than  inclined. 
But  the  boy — Trescotte's  boy — that  was  the  stum 
bling-block.  If  the  boy  could  be  disposed  of,  the 
way  would  be  clear.  Reconciliation  meant  the 
assumption  of  the  parentage  of  another  man's  off 
spring.  Against  this  he  revolted. 

It  was  in  this  indeterminate  state  of  mind  that  he 
met  Trescotte.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  embar 
rassment  upon  both  sides.  When  they  exchanged 
views  Adams  discovered  that  one  consideration 

179 


l8o  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

alone  swayed  Trescotte,  and  before  that  all  others 
were  small ;  Trescotte  wanted  the  cloud  upon  the 
marriage  certificate  of  Dorothy  lifted ;  it  was  for 
Dorothy's  sake,  not  his  own.  Trescotte  soon  learned 
that  Adams  was  half-hearted  in  his  desire  for  a 
divorce  from  Elsie,  and  was  deterred  by  fear  of  the 
scandal  that  would  result  from  such  a  procedure; 
it  was  for  Elsie's  sake,  not  his  own.  There  were 
reserves  upon  the  part  of  each  which  prevented 
them  from  getting  close  to  the  subject  they  dis 
cussed.  Trescotte  did  not  urge  a  restoration  of 
relationship  between  Adams  and  Elsie  which  would 
make  the  common  law  marriage  a  fact,  because  there 
was  the  five  months  he  had  spent  with  Elsie,  which 
seemed  to  him  indelicate  to  call  up.  Adams  did 
not  show  Trescotte  that  the  bar  to  restoration  was 
the  boy,  the  consequence  of  that  five  months,  be 
cause  Trescotte  did  not  have  knowledge  of  the  child. 
So  the  conference  came  to  naught.  Adams  brought 
it  to  an  end  by  saying: 

"Well,  Mr.  Trescotte,  we're  agreed  upon  one  thing. 
We  don't  want  our  wives  involved  in  scandal.  I'll 
promise  that  whatever  course  I  pursue  will  involve 
no  scandal.  I  suppose  I  could  sue  for  divorce  on 
the  ground  of  abandonment,  and  arrange  to  have 
the  validity  of  the  first  marriage  to  come  up  some 
way  for  settlement.  Frankly,  I  should  like  to  have 
the  matter  settled,  for  my  own  sake  as  well  as 
yours,  and  I  had  just  as  soon  see  the  validity  of  it 
established  as  not,  for  if  it  was,  it  would  be  no  bar 
to  divorce  proceedings." 


A   NEW   TANGLE.  l8l 

"I  should  be  the  last  one,  anxious  as  I  am  for 
Mrs.  Trescotte,"  promptly  replied  Trescotte,  "to 
encourage  divorce  proceedings.  The  establishment 
of  the  legality  of  your  marriage  would  be  a  very 
happy  thing  for  Mrs.  Trescotte  and  myself.  But 
neither  of  us,  I  hope,  are  so  lost  to  the  rights  of 
others  as  to  try  to  secure  such  a  result  through  the 
misery  and  unhappiness  of  Mrs.  Adams.  I  am  told 
that  Mrs.  Adams  entertains  all  her  old  affection  for 
you.  I  would  much  rather  see  a  happy  adjustment 
of  your  difficulties." 

Adams  put  out  his  hand  and  grasped  that  of 
Trescotte  warmly. 

"I  know  you  would,"  he  said  heartily.  "You  are 
that  kind  of  a  man.  But — well,  Mr.  Trescotte,  there 
is  something  in  the  way  that  I  cannot  speak  to  you 
about — nothing,"  he  added  quickly,  "that  reflects 
upon  the  good  name  or  repute  of  Mrs.  Adams." 

Again  that  sensitiveness  as  to  Elsie,  It  struck 
Mr.  Trescotte  as  pathetic. 

While  this  was  going  forward  in  the  library,  Doro 
thy  and  Elsie  were  conferring  in  the  music  room. 

"You  say,"  said  Dorothy  after  she  had  closed  the 
doors,  "that  you  have  come  to  give  me  the  assur 
ance  of  sympathy;  that  you  will  do  nothing  to  sepa 
rate  me  from  the  man  I  love.     Am  I  in  danger  r 
separation  ?" 

"Are  you  not?"  asked  Elsie  in  some  wonder. 

"I  do  not  think  so." 

"Your  mother  said  you  ought  to  be,  and  pleaded 
with  me  to  claim  Mr,  Trescotte  as  my  husband " 


1 82  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"My  mother?"  interrupted  Dorothy,  scarcely 
believing  that  she  had  heard  aright. 

"Yes ;  I  refused,  and  immediately,  believe  me,  Mrs, 
Trescotte,  immediately." 

"Where?"  demanded  Dorothy.  "Where  did  you 
see  my  mother?" 

The  story  that  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  carefully  kept 
to  herself  came  out,  and  Dorothy  knew  of  the  rapid 
journey  to  Buffalo,  and  the  defeat  of  her  mother. 
Dorothy  was  angry.  Angry  because  of  her  mother's 
unwarrantable  methods,  and  because  of  the  cruelty 
to  the  crushed  woman  who  had  come  to  her  in  such 
simplicity  and  confidence.  She  found  upon  inquiry 
that  all  this  time  Elsie  had  remained  in  the  belief 
that  her  marriage  to  Adams  was  invalid,  and  that 
Adams  being  free,  hope  of  reconciliation  was  lost. 
Mourning  and  grieving  over  this  in  secret,  the  spirit 
of  the  once  madcap,  reckless,  gay  Elsie  Hallock  had 
been  crushed. 

With  earnestness  and  enthusiasm  almost,  Dorothy 
presented  the  common  law  marriage  theory,  trying 
to  persuade  Elsie  that  hope  of  reconciliation  was  far 
from  lost,  since  she  was  still  the  wife  in  law  and  in 
fact.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Elsie  comprehended 
Dorothy's  important  communication,  for  she  shook 
her  head  sadly  and  seemed  to  regard  Dorothy's  in 
formation  as  only  another  complication  in  the  con 
fusion  in  which  she  was  involved.  But  whether  or 
not  Elsie  comprehended,  Dorothy  got  back  to  the 
assertion  that  there  was  no  danger  to  her  of  separa 
tion  from  Mr.  Trescotte. 


A  NEW   TANGLE.  183 

To  this  Elsie  replied  that  she  would  not  permit 
herself  to  be  used  to  that  end. 

"Used?"  queried  Dorothy.  "There  is  something 
more  in  your  mind?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Elsie.  "This  affair  is  so  com 
plicated  that  it  is  difficult  to  say  all  you  want  to. 
This  is  what  I  want  to  say  to  you — what  I  have 
come  to  you  from  Buffalo  for.  My  brother  has 
learned  on  good  authority  that  Mr.  Adams  is  here 
in  the  city  preparing  to  sue  me  for  divorce.  I  fear, 
though  my  brother  denies  it,  that  it  is  by  arrange 
ment  with  my  brother  or  with  my  father,  and  that 
they  mean  to  establish  that  there  was  no  marriage 
between  us,  so  that  it  will  come  down  to  the  mar 
riage  in  Switzerland.  That  means  they  would  try 
to  force  me  to  claim  Mr.  Trescotte  as  a  husband." 

Dorothy  winced  under  this  and  looked  very 
severe. 

"That  is  what  your  mother  wanted  me  to  do. 
But  I  refused  her,  and  I  never  will  consent." 

"But,"  said  Dorothy,  a  little  hard,  though  she 
tried  not  to  be.  "What  would  it  serve  them?  Mr. 
Trescotte  would  resist." 

"He  is  very  rich,  is  he  not?"  asked  Elsie  inno 
cently.  "Oh,  the  sordidnessof  it !  It  is  a  miserable 
thing,  and  before  the  scandal  is  out  I  came  here  to 
save  you  this  much  misery  and  to  tell  you  I  will  be 
no  party  to  it.  I  have  too  much  sympathy  for  you, 
for  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  torn  from  the  man  you 
love.  I  could  not  stay  at  home  quietly  until  I  had 
come  and  told  you  this.  It  seemed  to  be  a  duty." 


1 84  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

She  was  so  pathetic  in  her  earnestness  that  Dor 
othy,  to  conceal  her  own  tears,  bent  over  her  and 
kissed  her  and  whispered:  "I  know  that;  I'm  sure 
of  it." 

Suddenly  a  thought  crossed  her  mind  and  it  must 
be  admitted  accompanied  with  a  pang  of  jealousy. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Trescotte?" 

"He  came  into  the  reception  room  when  I  was 
there,"  replied  Mrs.  Adams  somewhat  distressed. 
"But  he  did  not  recognize  me  and  I  did  not  make 
myself  known.  I  do  not  want  to  see  him.  It  is 
embarrassing  enough  to  come  to  you." 

Dorothy  bent  her  head  in  a  tumult  of  rushing 
thought  and  alarm.  She  did  not  fear  separation 
from  Trescotte.  She  believed  Mrs.  Adams  and 
trusted  Trescotte,  but  she  was  apprehensive.  There 
was  the  threatened  scandal,  the  publicity,  the  gossip, 
and  while  she  was  very  grateful  to  Mrs.  Adams  and 
felt  sincere,  active  sympathy,  still  she  wished  Mrs. 
Adams  was  out  of  the  house,  out  of  all  chance  of 
meeting  Trescotte.  She  wondered  for  a  brief  instant 
if  a  desire  to  see  Trescotte  was  not  really  the  mean 
ing  of  Elsie's  visit,  but  she  dismissed  the  idea  as 
unworthy  herself  and  of  Mrs.  Adams. 

The  little  boy,  tired  of  a  conversation  from  which 
he  could  extract  no  amusement,  sat  himself  on  the 
floor  between  the  two  women  and  played  with  the 
scattered  sheets  of  music  that  had  fallen  from  the 
stand.  Had  Dorothy  known  the  relation  this  inno 
cent  lad  bore  to  the  tangle  they  were  all  involved 
in,  what  a  complicating  force  he  was  in  Elsie's  prob- 


A    NEW    TANGLE.  185 

lem,  and  might  become  in  hers,  possibly  she  might 
have  given  more  attention  to  the  little  one  playing 
so  unobtrusively.  As  it  was,  too  much  absorbed  in 
the  ideas  her  conference  with  Elsie  had  given  birth 
to,  she  was  only  dimly  conscious  that  a  child — Mrs. 
Adams'  child — was  there. 

"You  say,"  she  asked  suddenly,  "you  still  love 
Mr.  Adams?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"Yet  you  are  separated  from  him." 

"I  could  not  help  it." 

Wooed  into  confidence  by  Dorothy's  sympathy 
and  kindliness,  Mrs.  Adams  began  to  tell  the  reason. 
Almost  immediately  she  saw  it  involved  the  pater 
nity  of  the  little  child — Trescotte's  child.  She 
recoiled  from  telling  Trescotte's  wife  the  fact,  not 
because  she  feared  for  herself,  but  instinct  informed 
her  that  it  would  be  a  lightning  stroke  to  the  one 
who  had  risked  so  much  to  remain  with  the  man  of 
her  love,  to  learn  that  that  man  was  the  father  of 
a  child  of  which  she  was  not  the  mother.  Elsie 
wondered  how  she  could  have  brought  the  child 
there — why  the  fact  that  she  was  to  visit  the  wife 
of  its  father  had  not  occurred  to  her.  She  up 
braided  herself  for  her  thoughtlessness  and  became 
filled  only  with  one  thought,  and  that,  to  leave  the 
house  as  soon  as  possible. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Adams,"  said  Dorothy,  who  had  been 
following  her  own  thoughts,  "we  all  of  us  will  fear 
a  suit  if  it  is  to  open  our  history  to  the  world.  And 
we'll  hope  that  it  will  not  come,  but  upon  the  con- 


186  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

trary,  that  you  and  your  husband  may  be  brought 
together  again.  Perhaps  Mr.  Trescotte  can  do 
something  to  show  Mr.  Adams  that  a  marriage  does 
exist  between  you,  and  that  that  in  itself  will  bring 
about  a  reconciliation." 

"I  fear  not,"  Elsie  said.  "There  are  some  things, 
apparently,  Mr.  Adams  will  not  forgive.  If  you  feel 
I  am  sincere  when  I  say  nothing  will  persuade  me 
to  interfere  with  your  happiness,  I  am  content.  I 
expect  no  happiness  in  my  own  life.  But  it  will  be 
a  little  less  miserable  if  I  can  feel  that  I  have  pre 
vented  your  separation.  I  owe  this  to  Mr.  Tres 
cotte,  for  he  tried,  at  his  own  sacrifice,  once  to  serve 
me  in  the  highest  manner  a  man  can  serve  a  woman. 
I  want  him  to  know  I  have  not  forgotten  what  he 
did  then ;  that  I  am  filled  with  remorse  that  I  was 
so  weak  at  that  time.  And  now  that  I  have  met 
you,  I  want  you  to  know  for  yourself  that  nothing 
I  may  do  will  ever  interfere  with  your  happiness. 
And  if  you  do,  I  will  go  home,  perhaps  never  to  see 
ycu  again." 

She  arose  to  end  the  interview — to  escape  with 
her  boy  from  the  house  of  his  father.  Dorothy  rose 
with  her,  and  threw  open  the  door  leading  into  the 
salon. 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  stood  within. 

"I  was  tired  of  being  alone,"  she  laughed,  "so  I 
came  down  into  this  favorite  room  of  mine." 

Dorothy  was  making  some  commonplace  apology 
for  having  left  her  so  long  alone,  when  she  heard  he* 
husband's  voice  outside  the  door. 


A   NEW  TANGLE.  187 

"I  hear  my  wife's  voice  in  the  salon"  he  said. 
''Let  me  present  you." 

The  next  instant  Trescotte,  followed  by  Adams, 
entered. 

"Elsie!     My  God!"  cried  Adams. 

"George,  I — 

Elsie  nearly  toppled  over  in  her  agitation,  and, 
indeed,  would  have  fallen  had  not  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
put  forth  an  arm  to  save  her. 

"Elsie,"  cried  Trescotte,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
recollection,  "what  brings — 

In  his  surprise  he  moved  toward  Elsie  and  the 
movement  brought  him  to  the  side  of  the  child 
clinging  to  his  mother's  skirts.  He  was  interrupted 
by  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  who  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"Look!"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  child.  "The 
resemblance.  It  is  marvelous!" 

"And  that  boy  is  with  her!"  cried  Adams  bitterly. 
"Your  boy,  Trescotte — for  it  is  yours !" 

"His?" 

The  question  came  from  Dorothy  in  a  blending  of 
contempt,  indignation,  and  incredulity.  The  little 
child  began  to  whimper  when  he  found  himself  the 
object  of  all  these  intense  and  agitated  looks,  and 
tried  to  hide  his  face  in  the  skirts  of  his  mother. 
But  Dorothy  had  seen  the  resemblance,  too  pro 
nounced  to  be  denied. 

"Answer  him,"  she  said  commandingly,  as  she 
turned  to  Trescotte.  "Is  that  your  child?" 

Amazed  and  bewildered,  Trescotte  replied 

"I  don't  know." 


1 88  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMt 

Adams  laughed  bitterly. 

The  weight  of  Mrs.  Adams  became  heavier  on 
the  arm  of  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen. 

"She  has  fainted,"  quietly  remarked  that  lady. 

Trescotte  led  Adams  out  of  the  room.  Dorothy, 
with  a  heart  full  of  bitterness,  joined  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen  in  the  effort  to  revive  the  mother  of  her 
husband's  eldest  child. 


BOOK  IV.— THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BLUB 
RIBBON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MOMENTOUS   EVENTS. 

IN  the  following  February  occurred  three  events 
of  concern,  all  within  a  week  and  in  the  order  named : 

A  baby,  a  little  girl,  came  to  the  house  of  Tres- 
cotte; 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  became  a  widow,  her  husband 
having  died  after  a  brief  illness;  and 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hermann  Waldemar  returned  from 
Germany  to  begin  a  career  of  fashion  in  New  York. 

The  first  event  again  put  into  malignant  activity 
the  gossiping  tongues,  which,  having  accomplished 
the  ostracism  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte,  had  stilled 
from  sheer  weariness.  And  Mrs.  Courtenay,  learn 
ing  of  its  renewal,  and  knowing  of  the  near  approach 
of  her  other  daughter,  wondered,  with  a  little  trepi 
dation,  what  the  effect  would  be  on  Waldemar. 
When  she  saw  Hilda,  however,  her  concern  was  of 
another  kind.  A  marvelous  change  had  come  over 
Hilda.  What  had  happened  in  the  four  months  of 

189 


19°  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

her  wedded  life?  This  was  a  question  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  frequently  asked  herself,  without  satisfactory 
answer.  The  fire  was  gone  from  Hilda's  eyes  and 
there  was  listlessness  in  her  manner.  It  was  not 
because  of  the  Trescotte  gossip,  for  Hilda  languidly 
approved  Dorothy's  course,  and  shocked  her  mother 
by  remarking  indifferently  that  without  the  common 
law  marriage  phase,  she  would  have  approved  it. 
The  promise  of  social  triumphs  did  not  appeal  to 
her.  She  accepted  the  programme  of  social  festivi 
ties  Mrs.  Courtenay  had  laid  out  for  her,  with  the 
comment  that  they  were  the  penalties  a  bride  must 
endure.  She  was  interested  in  nothing.  Only  when 
there  were  strangers  present,  or  some  of  her  old  rivals 
on  the  matrimonial  course,  was  anything  seen  of 
that  gallant  and  haughty  bearing  of  the  favorite 
Courtenay  daughter.  Discreet  questioning  failed  to 
elicit  information.  She  had  enjoyed  her  trip,  she 
had  been  charmingly  received  by  Waldemar's  noble 
relatives,  and  she  had  been  noticed  and  compli 
mented  by  the  emperor.  Had  Waldemar  been 
attentive?  Oh,  yes,  he  had  been  all  that  had  been 
necessary.  And  here  inquiries  ended.  Mrs.  Walde 
mar  had  no  complaints  to  make,  and  Hilda  Courte 
nay  had  passed  away. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  took  up  a  course  of  silent  observa 
tion,  but  with  little,  if  any,  more  success.  What  she 
did  learn  did  not  please  her.  She  found  that  Wal 
demar  took  up  his  life  in  New  York  just  as  he  had 
laid  it  down  to  go  abroad  on  his  wedding  trip.  His 
stable,  his  club,  and  his  other  pleasures  did  not  Ian. 


MOMENTOUS  EVENTS.  191 

guish  for  lack  of  his  attention.  Though  Mrs.  Wal- 
demar's  chair  in  their  box  at  the  autumn  season  of 
opera  was  always  occupied,  that  of  Hermann  was 
nearly  always  vacant.  But  as  Hilda  did  not  com 
plain,  Mrs.  Courtenay  could  not  interfere.  The 
world  said  behind  Hilda's  back  that  Hilda  Walde- 
mar  had  grown  unbearably  insolent  since  her 
marriage. 

Hilda  went  to  see  Dorothy  within  twenty-four 
hours  of  her  landing  and  frequently  thereafter.  She 
was  more  tender  and  affectionate  with  her  sister  than 
was  her  wont,  and  nestling  the  little  stranger  in  her 
arms,  dropped  tears  on  its  face  she  was  ashamed  to 
show.  Dorothy  saw  the  change  in  Hilda  and  could 
not  tell  what  it  was.  A  change  in  Dorothy  was 
noticed  by  Hilda  and  neither  could  she  penetrate 
that.  Whatever  these  changes  were  they  drew  the 
two  sisters  closer  together  than  they  had  ever  been 
before. 

The  first  time  Hilda  went  to  see  Dorothy  she  met 
Trescotte  in  the  hall  as  she  was  leaving. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions,"  she  said, 
after  she  had  lifted  her  cheek  to  be  kissed  by  her 
brother-in-law. 

Divining  what  they  would  be,  Trescotte  took  her 
into  the  library  and  closed  the  door. 

"There  has  been  some  trouble  about  your  mar- 
riage,  Henry,"  she  said,  as  she  seated  herself  in  a 
large  easy-chair.  "Tell  me  about  it." 

"You  have  heard  nothing,  then?"  he  asked. 

"Only  enough  to  know  there  was  something,"  she 


1 92  SffOt/LD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

replied.  "Hermann's  father  wrote  a  mere  mention 
of  it  while  we  were  abroad." 

Trescotte  told  her  the  story  without  color  or  argu 
ment,  ending  with  the  common  law  marriage  aspect. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  the  story,"  she  said 
simply  when  he  had  finished.  "I  uphold  you  and 
Dorothy  in  everything  you  have  done.  Happiness 
is  worth  more  than  all  society  can  give  you — ten 
times  more.  She  is  happy,  isn't  she?" 

Trescotte's  face  was  very  sober  as  he  replied : 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  anyone  happier  than  she 
was  until  the  occurrence  of  a  certain  event  in  Decem 
ber.  Then  there  was  a  change  in  her.  I  am  not 
prepared  to  say  that  it  affected  her  happiness,  but 
it  did  make  a  change,  though  Dr.  Balkin  told  me  to 
dismiss  the  idea,  as  it  was  only  a  symptom.  Doctors 
explain  everything  by  symptoms." 

Hilda  looked  at  him  searchingly  for  a  moment.  A 
spasm  of  pain,  quickly  repressed,  passed  over  her 
face  as  she  said : 

"You  are  a  very  good  man,  Henry." 

She  rose  from  her  seat.  As  she  walked  to  the 
door,  she  said : 

"When  Dorothy  is  well  enough  I  will  give  a  din 
ner.  Some  friends  are  coming  over  to  whom  I  must 
be  nice.  They  will  be  here  about  the  time  Dorothy 
can  go  out." 

"You  know  we  do  not  go  into  society  at  all,"  sug 
gested  Trescotte. 

"You  make  a  mistake,"  said  the  bride  bitterly. 
"Society!  Society  fs  a  spaniel.  Whip  it  and  it 


MOMENTOUS  EVENTS.  193 

cringes  at  your  feet.  What  a  contempt  for  it  I 
have." 

She  left  Trescotte  amazed  at  her  mood. 

The  change  Trescotte  had  spoken  of  as  apparent 
in  Dorothy  had  been  noticed  by  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
as  well.  After  the  event  of  the  meeting  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Adams  in  the  Trescotte  house  on  that  Decem 
ber  afternoon,  there  could  be  no  withholding  of  con 
fidence  from  that  lady.  She  had  learned  enough  to 
make  knowledge  of  all  necessary.  And  when  Mrs. 
Adams  left  the  house,  all  was  told  her  by  Trescotte 
at  Dorothy's  request. 

That  afternoon  was  as  embarrassing  as  any  Tres 
cotte  had  ever  passed.  It  was  more  so  than  the 
morning  of  nine  years  previous,  in  that  little  town 
of  Switzerland,  when  he  had  married  Elsie,  for  then 
he  saw  a  way  out.  Now  he  didn't.  Adams  had  left 
immediately  upon  the  denouement.  Mrs.  Adams 
was  compelled  to  remain  until  she  recovered  strength 
enough  to  go.  When  she  did,  she  was  accompanied 
by  the  discreet  and  trusty  Downs,  who  went  with 
her  to  the  station  and  saw  her  comfortably  bestowed 
on  her  journey  to  Buffalo.  In  the  meantime  Tres 
cotte  was  immured  in  his  library,  alone  with  his 
thoughts,  left  to  ponder  upon  the  extraordinary 
happenings  of  chance ;  upon  the  singular  situation  of 
his  wife,  Dorothy,  ministering  to  the  needs  of  his 
once  wife,  Elsie;  of  the  child,  of  whose  existence  he 
had  no  knowledge  until  so  rudely  and  shockingly 
revealed  to  him,  and  who  he  now  knew  was  the  inno 
cent  cause  of  wrecking  the  happiness  of  two  lives. 


194  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM f 

These  thoughts  weighed  heavily  upon  a  man  of  Tres- 
cotte's  make-up.  What  course  was  he  to  pursue? 
Existing,  the  boy  was  a  bar  to  a  reconciliation  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams.  His  interview  with  Adams 
had  shown  how  fond  Adams  was  of  Elsie.  The 
boy — his  boy — stood  in  the  way.  And  he  had  "lot 
failed,  amid  his  amazement  at  the  revelation  that  he 
was  the  father  of  a  lad  eight  years  old,  to  notice  the 
change  in  Dorothy's  tone  and  manner  following  that 
revelation.  Was  the  unfortunate  child  to  wreck  the 
happiness  of  Dorothy  and  himself,  as  he  had  that  of 
Adams  and  Elsie?  What  could  he  do  to  avert  it? 
In  fact,  what  could  he  do  in  any  direction?  Elsie 
loved  the  lad,  perhaps  all  the  more  because  he  was 
so  unfortunate  and  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble. 
That  was  the  way  with  mothers.  Suppose  Elsie 
were  willing  to  give  up  the  lad,  and  he  took  him, 
would  not  Dorothy  look  upon  him  from  her  stand 
point,  as  Adams  had  from  his?  What  happiness  if, 
while  the  child  was  pure  and  innocent,  the  Almighty 
in  his  mercy  would  take  the  boy  to  himself.  The 
thought  did  not  seem  impious,  and  it  would  be  such 

solution  of  the  vexed  problem. 

When  Mrs.  Adams  had  gone  Dorothy  brought 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  to  Trescotte  and  requested  him 
to  tell  their  story. 

When  he  had  finished,  before  any  remark  could 
be  made  by  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  Dorothy  spoke,  her 
manner  cold  and  her  voice  hard : 

"And  the  boy?  You  have  omitted  all  mention  of 
him." 


MOMENTOUS  EVENTS.  19$ 

"I  did  not  know  of  his  existence  until  this  after 
noon." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Dorothy, 
still  in  her  hard,  severe  tone.  "To  have  learned 
that  you  knew  of  his  existence  and  had  been  so 
indifferent  to  him  would  have  lessened  you  in  my 
esteem." 

Trescotte  looked  at  Dorothy  so  astounded  and  so 
pained  that  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  filled  with  pity 
for  him. 

"And  now  that  you  do  know  that  he  exists,  what?" 
demanded  Dorothy. 

"It  complicates  matters,"  replied  Trescotte  sadly. 

"Will  you  take  him  to  your  own  care?"  Her 
question  was  asked  almost  fiercely. 

"He  has  a  mother." 

"And  I  am  not  that  mother! " 

Trescotte,  too  much  distressed  to  appreciate  at 
its  full  significance  this  cry,  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  But  light  flooded  the  mind  of  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen.  She  saw  that  a  profound  jealousy 
possessed  Dorothy ;  that  with  all  the  force  of  her 
deep  love  for  Trescotte,  she  resented  the  inexorable 
fact  that  her  husband  was  the  father  of  a  child  of 
which  she  was  not  the  mother.  It  was  a  strange 
manifestation.  Dorothy  knew  of  the  previous  mar 
riage,  she  knew  of  the  five  months  Trescotte  hao 
lived  with  Elsie,  and  had  not  resented  it.  Indeed 
she  had  received  Elsie  without  a  pang  of  jealousy. 
Yet  when  the  boy,  a  natural  issue  of  that  brief  union, 
was  presented  she  was  transformed.  Trescotte 


196  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM f 

wondered  at  this ;  he  was  a  man.  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen  did  not ;  she  was  a  woman. 

Dorothy  left  the  room.  Trescotte,  hearing  the 
rustle  of  her  skirts,  turned  and  would  have  restrained 
her.  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  put  up  a  warning  finger. 
and  in  a  low  tone  said : 

"Leave  her  to  me." 

She  followed  Dorothy.  No  sooner  had  they 
reached  her  room  than  Dorothy,  flinging  herself  into 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen's  arms,  burst  into  tears. 

The  jealousy  of  women  is  incomprehensible.  It 
has  no  reason.  It  neither  thinks  nor  argues.  It 
simply  is,  and  its  vision  is  distorted.  It  sees  what 
no  person  can.  It  imagines,  and  its  imaginings  are 
pitiful  because  the  effects  are  real  in  the  sorrow  and 
misery  they  bring.  That  which  is  absurd  to  others 
is  plausible  to  a  jealous  woman.  With  a  woman  so 
possessed  one  cannot  reason.  The  best  and  noblest 
of  their  sex  are  subject  to  these  attacks,  and  when 
attacked  are  without  sense.  Ridicule  or  condemna 
tion  is  the  only  remedy.  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  under 
stood  this. 

Waiting  until  the  paroxysm  was  exhausted,  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen  led  Dorothy  to  a  chair  and  sat  her 
down. 

"You  must  be  ill,"  she  said,  "or  you  would  not  act 
so  foolishly." 

Dorothy,  expecting  sympathy,  looked  up  indig 
nantly. 

"I  mean  it,"  went  on  her  friend  gravely.  "You 
have  no  right  to  worry  Mr.  Trescotte,  troubled  as 


MOMENTOUS  EVENTS.  1 97 

he  is  with  a  great  sorrow.  What  sympathy  did  you 
give  him  when  he  needs  so  much?" 

Dorothy  stared  at  her  censor.  Jealousy  is  selfish. 
Dorothy  had  a  dim  realization  of  the  truth. 

"What  is  the  highest  duty  of  a  wife?  Is  it  not  to 
sympathize  with  her  husband  when  he  is  in  trouble, 
to  comfort  him?  It  is  especially  your  duty,  sur 
rounded  as  you  are  with  such  love  and  tenderness." 

"That  boy  is  his,"  murmured  Dorothy,  and  imme 
diately  conscious  of  the  confession  involved  in  her 
words. 

"He  does  not  deny  it." 

"Is  that  nothing?"  whimpered  Dorothy. 

"Nothing  that  you  have  to  complain  of,"  calmly 
went  on  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  "Your  time  to  com 
plain  was  when  Mr.  Trescotte  told  you  he  had  lived 
for  five  months  with  Mrs.  Adams  as  his  wife.  When 
in  the  knowledge  of  it  you  accepted  him,  you  for 
gave  everything,  even  the  inevitable  result  of  such  a 
union." 

"OLou!"  cried  Dorothy.  "You  do  not  under 
stand  me." 

"I  understand  everything,  even  that  which  you 
think,  but  are  ashamed  to  say.  I  have  little  patience 
with  you.  Here  you  are,  blessed  as  few  women  are, 
with  a  superior  man  for  a  husband,  who  loves  you 
from  the  bottom  of  his  noble  heart,  who  surrounds 
you  with  all  that  love  can  give  you  and  the  protec 
tion  tenderness  can  invent — who  makes  your  life  a 
poem,  one  continued  strain  of  delightful  music, 
whose  devotion  is  constant  and  never  ceasing,  and 


19^  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

you  have  the  audacity,  the  wickedness,  to  harbor 
bitter  thoughts,  instead  of  giving  him  that  sympathy 
he  so  much  needs  when  so  afflicted.  It  is  the  most 
pitiable  exhibition  of  ingratitude  I  have  ever  seen. 
It  is  selfish,  it  is  contemptible,  and  to  me  distress 
ing,  because  I  have  revered  you  as  a  noble  woman. 
It  is  petty  jealousy,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"Lou  Graham !  "  cried  Dorothy,  springing  to  her 
feet,  her  eyes  blazing,  going  back  to  the  girl-day 
name  of  her  friend.  "I'll  not  listen  to  you!" 

"You  must !"  insisted  the  other  stoutly.  "It  is 
because  I  am  your  friend  that  I  say  what  I  do. 
What  right  have  you  to  quarrel  with  Fortune?  Did 
you  not  marry  where  you  loved?  Did  you  not 
choose  for  yourself?  Have  not  flowers  been  strewn 
in  your  path?  Have  not  love  and  tenderness 
enveloped  you?  Look  at  me — at  me,  and  be  un 
happy,  if  you  dare.  Forced  to  marry  an  old  man 
whose  life  reeks  with  the  filth  of  it ;  sacrificed  to 
save  my  family  from  the  poverty  he  could  put  it 
in,  and  the  station  from  which  he  could  hurl  it ; 
compelled  to  put  aside  the  romance  that  could 
bring  joy  and  sweetness  into  my  life,  to  see  two 
lives  wrecked,  to  live  without  joy  and  without  hope. 
to  know  the  sacrifice  I  had  made  was  regarded  as 
treachery  to  the  love  I  had  confessed  and  the  prom 
ises  I  had  pledged,  to  see  the  man  I  loved  and  who 
loved  me,  sink  and  pass  away,  believing  that  sordid 
ambition  had  made  me  faithless,  without  the  power 
to  explain,  and  then  tell  me  what  you  have  to  com 
plain  of?  What  is  it?  What?  Your  husband  has 


MOMENTOUS  EVENTS.  199 

discovered  that  he  is  the  father  of  a  child  five  years 
older  than  your  acquaintance  with  him!" 

Dorothy,  with  outstretched  arms,  her  face  tender 
with  sweet  pity,  went  to  her  friend,  crying : 

"Forgive  me.  And  you  wear  your  life  so 
bravely." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MRS.  TREVOR-ALLEN'S  PLAN. 

THE  revelation  of  the  sorrow  and  bitterness  of 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen's  life  drew  Dorothy  more  closely 
to  her  friend.  The  latter  knew  her  friend  envied  her 
the  happiness  of  her  life,  was  proud  of  it,  yet  pitied 
her  friend  for  what  was  denied  her.  While  this  was 
all  true,  an  intangible,  impalpable  something  had 
come  up  between  Dorothy  and  Trescotte.  Dorothy 
felt  it,  because  it  had  existence  in  herself.  Trescotte 
felt  it,  because  he  noted  its  existence  in  Dorothy. 
It  was  difficult  to  establish  what  and  where  it  was. 
There  was  the  same  attention,  the  same  tenderness, 
the  same  devotion,  the  same  love  upon  the  part  of 
Trescotte.  There  was  the  same  admiration,  the 
same  confidence,  the  same  trust,  the  same  love  on 
the  part  of  Dorothy.  It  was  the  shadow  of  the 
boy.  He  did  not  carry  it  with  him  when  he  went 
away  with  his  mother.  Shadows  are  intangible. 
How  was  it  shown?  Ah,  that  was  as  impalpable  as 
the  thing  itself.  Both  were  conscious  of  it,  though 
it  was  not  mentioned  by  eithen  When  two  lives 
are  completely  mingled,  the  shade  of  an  expression 
and  the  glance  of  an  eye  have  an  eloquence  words 
cannot  express.  Dorothy  could  not  pardon  fate  fo* 


MRS.    TREVOR-ALLEN'S  PLAN.  2OI 

giving  to  another  woman  what  she  believed  should 
have  been  hers.  Such  emotion  could  be  possessed 
only  by  a  woman  passionately  loving  her  husband. 
While  Dorothy  loved  her  husband,  admired  him, 
held  him  guiltless,  yet  she  vented  her  deep  disap 
pointment  on  him.  I  do  not  attempt  to  account 
for  this.  To  do  so  would  be  to  confess  myself  a 
fool.  He  who  attempts  to  account  for  the  workings 
of  the  female  heart  is  a  fool.  All  he  can  hope  to  do 
is  to  detect  its  operations  and  hold  them  up  to 
view,  and  ninety  times  in  a  hundred  he  fails  at 
that.  Explain?  Explain  the  motive  power  of  the 
stars  in  their  heavenly  courses.  The  female  heart 
is  one  of  God's  incomprehensibilities. 

When  the  baby  came  there  was  another  change. 
Something  of  the  old  something  slid  out  of  sight. 
Trescotte  was  very  proud  and  tender.  And  Doro 
thy  was  very  proud  and  tender,  because  he  was 
proud.  Perhaps  if  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  could  have 
been  a  witness  of  their  exchanges  of  affection  she 
would  have  plumed  herself  upon  having  contributed 
to  it  by  the  drastic  potion  she  had  administered  to 
Dorothy.  But  she  did  not. 

Duty  called  her  to  the  bedside  of  the  man  whose 
name  she  bore.  There  was  no  love,  for  she  pro 
fessed  none,  behind  that  duty,  but  she  performed  it 
with  all  the  fidelity  love  could  inspire.  A  frame 
weakened  by  years  of  self-indulgence  could  not  at 
its  advanced  age  withstand  the  insidious  attack  of 
disease,  and  he  died,  leaving  her  his  vast  fortune, 
as  testimony,  his  will  said,  to  his  admiration  of  her 


202  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

as  a  woman,  and  her  excellence  as  a  wife.  This  will 
created  astonishment,  and  caused  the  matron 
mothers,  who  recognized  in  the  new  widow  a  formid 
able  quantity  in  their  problems,  over  their  teacups 
to  comment :  "No  fool  like  an  old  fool,"  and  Mr, 
Magrane  to  say,  with  the  applause  of  Mr.  Trescotte, 
"Whatever  the  old  fellow  was,  he  appreciated  a  true 
woman  when  he  found  her."  Mr.  Trevor-Allen  was 
buried,  and  society  attended  in  large  numbers,  just  as 
if  he  had  been  the  wisest  and  best  of  men.  And  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen  in  robes  of  black,  donned  because  con 
vention  demanded  them,  a  very  charming  widow, 
laughed  gayly  without  a  single  pretense  of  sorrow, 
because  she  was  not  a  hypocrite. 

Summer  came  and  went.  Society  flitted  from  the 
city  and  flitted  back.  This  summer  the  Trescottes 
did  not  keep  open  house  in  the  city.  A  cottage  on 
the  coast  of  Maine  had  been  purchased,  and  there 
also  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  went  to  spend  the  months 
supposed  to  be  devoted  to  mourning.  When  all 
involved  in  this  tale  returned  to  the  city,  the  con 
ditions  were  unchanged.  Adams  was  upon  the 
Pacific  Coast  and  Elsie  was  with  her  father.  Not  a 
step  toward  the  unraveling  of  the  tangle  had  been 
taken. 

One  evening  in  the  late  autumn  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen  and  Mr.  Magrane  dined  with  the  Trescottes. 
They  met  frequently  at  that  table,  now  that  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen  was  withdrawn  from  society.  The 
two  were  sitting  apart  after  dinner  while  Mr.  and 
Mrs,  Trescotte  were  entertaining  Mr.  Courtenay, 


MKS.    TREVOR- ALLEN'S  PLAN,  103 

who  had  dropped  in  as  he  did  once  or  twice  a 
week. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  changed  the  topic  of 
conversation  : 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams  have  not  been  reconciled 
yet?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Magrane,  rather  startled  by  the 
abrupt  manner  the  subject  had  been  introduced. 
"It  is  singular  you  should  speak  of  it  to-day,  for  I 
have  just  received  a  letter  from  Adams,  announcing 
his  early  return  and  his  determination  to  arrive  at 
some  settlement  of  his  marital  perplexities." 

"Do  you  know  what  he  proposes?"  asked  the 
lady. 

"No.  He  gives  no  indications."  He  laughed 
amusedly.  "I  tried  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation 
the  last  time  he  was  here.  I  laid  a  deep  and,  as  I 
thought,  astute  plan.  But  chance  broke  it  up.  I 
got  him  to  call  on  Trescotte,  but  as  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  he  met  Mrs.  Adams  here  and  the  boy — his 
stumbling-block." 

"I  was  here  at  the  time." 

"Oh,  were  you?  Adams  said  there  was  a  lady 
other  than  Mrs.  Trescotte  present." 

"The  boy  is  handsome  and  attractive,"  said  the 
widow. 

"Is  he?  And  resembles  his  father,  I  hear," 
laughed  Mr.  Magrane. 

"Marvelously.     His  mother  is  very  fond  of  him." 

"Mothers  usually  are  fond  of  their  sons,  are  they 
not?" 


a»4  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

"I  was  much  attracted  to  the  mother — Mrs. 
Adams,  you  know." 

"She  is  a  very  sweet  woman — so  Adams  says." 

"Then  why  does  he  not  become  reconciled  ?"  asked 
the  widow. 

"The  boy,  you  know." 

"Ah,  the  poor  little  fellow.  He  stands  between 
his  mother  and  happiness."  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was 
sad  and  thoughtful. 

Mr.  Magrane  looked  down  upon  her  admiringly, 
wondering  whether  he  liked  her  best  in  her  gay  or 
her  sympathetic  mood. 

"I  have  been  in  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Adams," 
continued  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  "I  have  conceived  a 
great  pity  for  her.  I  wish  I  could  do  something 
toward  reconciliation.  She  longs  for  it — it  has  be- 
come  a  passion  with  her." 

Dorothy  overheard  this  statement  during  a  lull  in 
the  conversation  with  her  father  and  was  surprised. 
She  had  heard  nothing  of  this  correspondence. 

"Did  she  write  you  so?"  asked  Mr.  Magrane, 
much  interested. 

"In  express  terms.  Cannot  we  try  again  when 
Mr.  Adams  returns?" 

"If  the  boy  could  be  disposed  of,  everything  could 
be  accomplished." 

Dorothy  listened  intently. 

"It  is  a  dreadful  position  to  place  a  mother  in,** 
mused  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen. 

"She  must  choose  between  husband  and  son." 

"But  things  cannot  go  on  as  they  are." 


MRS.    TREVOR-ALLEN* S  PLAN.  805 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  Mr.  Adams  will  not  be  content  to  per 
mit  them,"  replied  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  "Something 
public  will  be  done,  and  in  it  the  true  parentage  of 
the  boy  will  be  revealed." 

Dorothy  listened  with  parted  lips,  holding  her 
breath  lest  she  lose  a  word,  thankful  that  her  father 
was  on  his  favorite  topic  of  real  estate. 

"That  will  be  bad,"  continued  the  widow,  "not 
alone  for  Mrs.  Adams,  but  for  the  boy  as  well." 

"Ah !" 

The  lawyer  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"And  you  mean "  he  asked. 

"That  they  must  be  reconciled." 

"But  how?" 

"In  the  interest  of  the  boy  himself,  she  must  part 
with  him.  You  see  it  is  something  more  than  a 
simple  choice  between  son  and  husband." 

"I  see." 

"I  think,"  went  on  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  warming  to 
her  subject,  "that  if  the  fact  were  properly  put  be 
fore  Mrs.  Adams  she  would  see  it." 

"A  mother  will  not  part  with  her  child  when  she 
ioves  him,"  remarked  the  lawyer  sententiously. 

"A  mother  is  capable  of  a  sacrifice  for  her  child 
you  men  cannot  comprehend." 

"Ah!"     The  tone  was  one  of  incredulity. 

"A  mother's  love  is  without  selfishness — the  only 
unselfish  thing  I  know  in  this  selfish  world." 

"Except  one  thing,"  said  the  lawyer,  who  had 
heard  her  story  from  Dorothy. 


206  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"And  that  is —  The  lady  looked  up  and 

caught  his  look  of  admiration  and  was  annoyed  that 
she  had  asked  the  question. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  now — some  time  perhaps  I  will. 
But  what  could  she  do  with  the  child  ?"  He  lowered 
his  voice  so  much  that  Dorothy  could  not  hear  him. 
"Give  him  to  our  friend  Trescotte?" 

"No,"  hurriedly  responded  the  lady.  "That 
would  never  do  at  all !  I  will  take  him,  if  she  will 
give  him  to  me." 

"You?" 

"I  will  adopt  him.  I  am  alone.  I  would  adore 
the  little  one." 

"But  if  you  married  again,  what  would  the  hus 
band  say?" 

The  charming  widow  laughed  merrily,  and  saucily 
tossing  her  blond  curls  with  that  coquetry  no 
woman  can  resist  displaying  when  her  own  marriage 
is  spoken  of,  replied  : 

"I  will  never  marry;  once  will  suffice  for  me. 
Besides,  if  I  do,  the  man  must  marry  the  boy  with 
the  other  incumbrance." 

Mr.  Magrane's  fine  dark  eyes  deepened  as  he 
laughed  with  her.  She  became  sober  suddenly,  and 
as  she  leaned  toward  him,  bent  beseeching  eyes  upon 
him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Magrane,  let  us  be  serious.  Can't 
this  be  done?  See  what  will  result.  Mrs.  Adams 
will  be  restored  to  her  husband,  the  lad's  parentage 
will  be  prevented  as  a  reproach,  a  scandal  which 
might  involve  our  friends  will  be  avoided,  and 


MRS.    TREVOR-ALLEN'S  PLAN.  207 

I,  in  my  loneliness,  will  have  something  to  care 
for." 

Dorothy  heard  it  all,  and  was  at  once  a  prey  U; 
confusing  and  conflicting  emotions.  She  looked  to 
see  if  her  husband  had  heard.  She  was  convinced 
he  had  not. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  lawyer  thought 
fully.  "Are  you  in  earnest?" 

"Entirely  so,"  answered  the  lady  sincerely.  "It 
is  not  a  sudden  impulse.  I  have  been  thinking  of  it 
a  long  time.  I  have  been  waiting  to  meet  you  and 
ask  you  to  undertake  it." 

"Let  me  think  about  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he 
rose*  "I  will  see  you  to-morrow  evening  if  you  will 
receive  me,  and  talk  it  over  again." 

He  took  his  leave,  and  as  he  descended  the  steps 
he  saw  a  carriage  drawn  up  in  front.  As  he  turned 
in  the  direction  he  was  to  go,  he  heard  his  name 
spoken.  A  woman  was  looking  through  the  open 
window  of  the  carriage.  In  the  uncertain  light  he 
could  not  distinguish  her  features.  As  he  approached 
he  recognized  Mrs.  Waldemar  and  saw  she  was  much 
agitated. 

"You  have  been  dining  with  Dorothy  and  Henry?" 
she  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes." 

"Tell  me  who  were  of  the  party?" 

"Only  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and  myself." 

"Is  she  stopping  with  them?" 

"No;  she  is  awaiting  the  coming  of  her  carriage." 

"Then  she  is  the  only  one  with  them?" 


208  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM* 

"No;  your  father  is  there,  but  he  was  not  at  the 
dinner." 

Mrs.  Waldemar  plainly  showed  increased  agita 
tion. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Magrane,"  she  said,  "please  tell 
the  driver  to  go  on." 

He  complied  with  her  request,  and  the  driver 
asked  where  he  should  drive  to.  Hilda  heard  him 
and  cried  out : 

"Anywhere.  Around  the  block,  anywhere,  only 
hurry." 

Astonished,  Mr.  Magrane  watched  the  carriage 
drive  away.  Then  he  walked  off  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  at  the  corner  of  the  street  waited  for 
a  car  which  passed  on  the  cross  street.  He  waited 
long  enough  to  see  a  carriage,  which  he  was  satisfied 
was  the  one  occupied  by  Hilda,  turn  the  corner  and 
take  up  a  station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
at  a  point  from  which  a  view  of  the  Trescotte  door 
could  be  commanded. 

"Something's  wrong,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
stepped  into  the  car  which  bore  him  away. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HILDA'S  ESCAPE. 

HAD  Mr.  Magrane  waited  for  the  next  car,  he 
would  have  seen,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Courtenay  left 
the  house,  the  carriage  cross  the  street,  Hilda  alight 
and  run  up  the  steps  of  the  Trescotte  house,  and  the 
carriage  drive  away. 

It  so  happened  that  as  the  door  was  opened  to 
admit  Hilda,  Dorothy  passed  into  the  hall.  As 
Hilda  came  forward  Dorothy  saw  her.  She  was 
shocked.  There  was  wildness,  fear,  despair  in 
Hilda's  face. 

"Hilda!" 

Alarm  and  amazement  were  in  Dorothy's  tones. 
Her  outcry  brought  Trescotte  and  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
from  the  salon.  In  the  way  Hilda  put  out  her  hands 
to  Dorothy  there  was  a  suggestion  of  the  sense  of 
having  reached  a  safe  haven. 

"Take  me  in  and  keep  me !"  she  said. 

"Have  you  left  your  home?"  asked  Dorothy, 
greatly  frightened. 

"Yes/' 

"And  your  husband?" 

"Yes." 

Before  Dorothy  could  ask  more  questions,  Mrs. 


210  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Trevor-Allen  laid  her  hand  upon  Dorothy's  arm  and 
said : 

"Wait.     Take  her  to  your  own  room." 

Dorothy  led  the  unresisting  Hilda  up  the  stairs. 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and  Trescotte  exchanged  glances 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  asked  Trescotte. 

"The  triumph  of  the  blue  ribbon,"  replied  the 
lady  bitterly. 

In  the  meantime  Dorothy  had  taken  Hilda  into 
her  own  room  and  removed  her  wraps  and  hat. 
Seating  her  in  a  chair,  Dorothy  asked: 

"Now,  dear,  what  is  the  trouble?" 

"I  am  safe  here,"  said  Hilda  with  a  sigh. 

Dorothy  thought  Hilda  had  asked  a  question. 

"Yes,  safe  from  all  interruption." 

"He  is  waiting  for  me  now  at  the  opera  house.** 

Dorothy  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  Hilda  was 
in  evening  dress  with  her  diamonds  and  rubies. 

"Who?"  she  asked. 

"I  took  the  carriage  to  join  him,  but  I  was  fright 
ened  and  came  here." 

"But  who,  child,  who?" 

A  mighty  fear  took  possession  of  Dorothy;  a 
wave  of  possibilities  and  conjecture  broke  over 
her. 

"Lord  Buttontrave.  I  was  to  go  with  him  to 
France.  Our  passage  is  engaged  on  the  Champagne" 

"Hilda!" 

"I  know  it  was  very  wicked.  But  I  didn't  go;  I 
came  to  you." 

"Thank  God !" 


HILDA'S  ESCAPE.  211 

"You  see,  I  am  a  coward.  I  am  not  brave  like 
you.  I  can't  defy  the  world,  like  you,  for  love  and 
happiness." 

The  iron  entered  Dorothy's  soul.  A  wild  sense 
of  injustice  filled  her  with  indignation,  frightened 
for  Hilda  as  she  was,  and  as  well  overwhelmed  by 
shame  for  her. 

"You  are  unjust  in  your  trouble!"  she  cried. 
"The  cases  are  different.  You  would  forsake  your 
marriage  vows.  I  cling  to  them." 

Hilda  did  not  reply.'  She  did  not  seem  to  hear 
Dorothy's  protest.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  on 
vacancy,  woe  on  her  face.  Dorothy  regretting  her 
outburst,  was  silent,  too,  thinking  what  she  could  do 
or  say  to  comfort  her  sister, 

Hilda  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  can  go  to  him  yet.  He  will  wait  for  me  until 
the  opera  is  over." 

Dorothy  sprang  forward  and  firmly  pressed  Hilda 
back  into  her  seat.  "You  will  stay  here,"  she  said 
masterfully;  "  I  will  protect  you  from  yourself  !" 

"He  loves  me,  for  he  has  followed  me  here." 

"And  Waldemar?" 

"He  loves  his  horses — and  La  Hoyle." 

Dorothy  had  heard  of  La  Hoyle.  She  was  the 
divinity  of  the  pink  tights  and  multi-colored  lights. 

The  miserable  story  was  coming  out  by  de 
grees. 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door.  Dorothy  opened 
it.  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  was  there,  asking  if  she  could 
be  of  service. 


212  SHOULD    SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM* 

"Please  don't  go  away  yet ;  I  may  need  you,"  said 
Dorothy.  "And  won't  you  ask  Mr.  Trescotte  to 
remain  in  for  a  while?" 

Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  satisfied  something  more  than 
the  usual  had  occurred,  went  down  to  Mr.  Trescotte. 

Dorothy  went  back  to  Hilda. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ONE   OCCURRENCE. 

HILDA  told  her  story,  but  neither  with  ease  nor 
connectedly.  She  was  too  much  distressed,  too 
much  broken  and  torn  by  too  many  conflicting 
emotions.  But  with  the  aid  of  Dorothy's  skillful 
questions  the  miserable  details  came  out. 

Pride,  ambition,  her  mother's  urgency,  her  false 
education,  her  warped  nature  developed  under  the 
forcing  processes  of  the  hothouse  of  her  peculiar 
training,  not  love,  had  induced  her  to  marry  Walde- 
mar.  Then  there  was  the  awakening,  the  realiza 
tion,  the  recovery  from  that  intoxication  which  the 
artificial  stimulus  of  modern  high  life  induces,  dull 
ing  the  senses  while  it  brightens  the  wits  of  its 
votaries.  In  the  reaction  which  followed  the  pro 
longed  social  temulency,  the  real  nature  of  the 
woman  began  to  have  sway.  She  began  to  see, 
with  a  vision  that  was  clear,  not  blurred,  who  Her 
mann  Waldemar  was  and  what  he  was.  Under  the 
veneer  of  a  gentleman  he  was  brutish ;  under  the 
gloss  the  fine  world  had  put  upon  him  his  grain  was 
coarse.  A  gambler  and  a  sensualist,  his  tastes  were 
low  and  his  pleasures  dictated  by  them.  In  three 
weeks  Hilda  had  received  the  education  before 


214  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

denied  her.  She  had  learned  that  marriage,  though 
sanctioned  by  the  Church,  was,  unhallowed  by  love, 
a  bondage,  a  mockery,  a  disgrace.  She  had  read  of 
love  in  novels,  but,  under  the  careful  tuition  of  her 
mother,  she  had  believed  it  to  be,  like  the  book,  fic 
tion.  To  love  was  a  figment  of  poetic  fancy ;  to 
marry,  that  was  practical  and  meant  a  rich  husband, 
a  fine  house,  a  life  of  luxurious  elegance.  She  had 
been,  like  the  fillies  of  the  racing  stables,  carefully 
trained  to  run,  and  when  brought  on  to  the  course 
did  run  in  the  direction  she  was  headed,  for  that 
was  what  she  had  been  taught  to  do.  But  after 
three  weeks,  as  by  a  flash,  she  had  appreciated  the 
truth  of  the  existence  of  love  by  the  curious  process 
of  realizing  its  absence  from  her  own  alliance.  In 
the  moment  of  her  awakening  it  was  revealed  to  her 
what  it  all  meant — this  compulsory  companionship 
with  a  man  with  whom  she  had  no  community  of 
taste  or  interest,  from  which  was  absent  that  magical 
glamour  of  love,  which  covers  defects,  makes 
blemishes  perfections,  minimizes  weaknesses,  and 
maximizes  excellencies.  Her  stunted  mind  and  sen 
sibilities  had  in  a  moment  sprung  into  normal 
development  by  the  irradiation  of  an  idea. 

She  had  arrived  at  this  condition  of  mind,  when 
in  Germany  two  things  occurred  which  powerfully 
influenced  her.  They  were  stopping  on  the  sea- 
coast  and  a  yacht  race  was  exciting  her  set.  A 
grandee  had  made  up  a  party  for  his  yacht,  of  which 
Hilda  was  to  be  one,  to  witness  the  race.  After 
there  was  to  be  an  excursion  to  last  three  days— all 


ONE   OCCURRENCE.  21$ 

under  irreproachable  chaperonage.  Waldemar  was 
to  sail  on  one  of  the  contesting  yachts,  since  he 
was  an  inveterate  yachtsman  at  home.  This 
arrangement  would  separate  Hilda  and  Walde 
mar  for  three  nights  and  four  days,  as  the  yacht 
on  which  she  was  would  not  arrive  until  the  after 
noon  of  the  fourth  day.  Under  unusually  propi 
tious  winds,  however,  the  yacht  ran  into  its  anchor 
age  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day.  Hilda, 
uncomfortable  and  bored,  leaving  her  maid  to  look 
after  her  things,  went  ashore  immediately  upon 
arrival  and  before  breakfast. 

Waldemar  was  large  in  a  small  way.  Though 
their  stay  at  the  seashore  was  to  be  brief,  he  had 
rented  a  house.  Entering  this  house,  Hilda  was 
admitted  by  the  hall  porter,  who  stared  at  her 
blankly,  and  whispered  something  to  her  in  German, 
which  she  did  not  understand.  As  she  ascended  the 
stairs  he  shook  his  head  in  despair.  To  Hilda's 
wonder  the  door  by  which  she  entered  the  room 
used  by  her  as  her  boudoir,  from  the  hall,  was  locked 
on  the  inside.  She  tried  another  door,  one  leading 
into  a  small  cross  hall,  from  which  entrance  could  be 
had  both  to  her  own  bedroom  and  to  Waldemar's 
apartments.  This  was  unlocked.  This  bedroom 
was,  apparently,  as  she  had  left  it  four  days  before. 
Condemning  the  negligence  of  the  servants,  she 
passed  to  the  next  room.  Disorder,  to  which  she 
was  unaccustomed,  reigned  here.  Empty  cham 
pagne  bottles,  cigar  and  cigarette  ends  were  upon 
the  tables,  and  on  a  large  tray  on  the  floor  the 


*l6  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT 

remains  of  a  feast.  Astounded,  Hilda  halted  on 
the  threshold.  Then  advancing,  a  large  sofa,  her 
delight  and  comfort,  came  into  the  line  of  her 
vision. 

On  it  lay  a  woman,  scantily  clad,  asleep. 

Hilda  was  stupefied.  Slowly  she  went  to  the  sofa. 
She  stretched  forth  a  hand  to  touch  the  recumbent 
figure,  to  see  if  it  were  real.  But  she  withheld  her 
hand  and  gazed,  fascinated.  Through  her  amaze 
ment  stole  a  sense  of  the  wonderful  fleshly  beauty 
of  the  woman  asleep.  Hilda  continued  to  gaze 
stupefied. 

An  arm  worthy  Canova's  study  was  flung  over  the 
head  of  the  sofa,  an  arm  perfectly  modeled,  and 
through  its  white  skin  the  blue  veins  could  be  traced. 
On  this  arm  rested  a  head  covered  with  crisp  auburn 
curls — auburn  in  which  there  was  a  glint  of  gold ; 
a  strong  white  neck,  with  alluring  creases,  rose  from 
broad,  white,  dimpled  shoulders,  covered  with  a  skin 
soft  like  satin  and  its  sheen,  with  a  hinting  sugges 
tion  of  pink;  the  chest  and  bust  protected,  not  con- 
cealed,  by  the  single  garment,  rose  and  fell  with  the 
deep  and  regular  inhalations  of  the  profound  sleeper. 
Hilda's  eyes  followed  the  bold  curves  of  the  relaxed 
body,  rising  massively  over  the  hips,  and  rested  on 
the  limb  escaped  from  its  covering,  gracefully  caught 
on  the  edge  of  the  sofa — a  limb  so  perfect  in  its  pro 
portions  as  to  appear  to  be  the  work  of  a  sculptor 
rather  than  that  of  nature.  A  more  sumptuous  reve 
lation  of  beauty  Hilda,  quickly  responsive  to  all 
beauty,  had  never  seen.  As  she  gazed  her  stupefac- 


ONE   OCCURRENCE.  21? 

tion  passed  away.  Her  first  thought  was  that  a 
servant  maid,  basely  taking  advantage  of  her  absence, 
had  occupied  her  apartments.  But  the  fine  texture 
and  costly  lace  of  the  garment  did  not  belong  to  a 
servant  maid.  Hilda  scanned  the  features  of  the 
sleeping  woman.  Beautiful  as  they  were,  they  were 
devoid  of  soul  and  uninformed  by  intellect.  Ah! 
They  were  familiar.  She  looked  again  and  drew 
back  in  disgust. 

The  woman  was  La  Hoyle,  her  husband's  mistress, 
the  divinity  of  the  multi-colored  lights.  The 
woman  who,  for  hire,  exposed  her  charms  before 
the  public ! 

Rumor  had  connected  Hilda's  husband's  name  with 
that  of  La  Hoyle,  but  she  had  refused  to  believe  it. 
Now,  however,  she  knew  Rumor  was  truthful.  This 
animal,  not  half  so  refined  as  one  of  his  horses,  was 
what  pleased  Waldemar.  Disgust  was  followed  by 
anger.  It  was  not  the  anger  of  outraged  love  ;  she 
had  no  love  for  him  to  be  outraged ;  but  the  anger 
of  a  woman  whose  pride  was  hurt — who  thought  of 
the  ridicule  and  contempt  of  her  inferiors — of  the 
delight  and  laughter  of  her  equals ;  anger  that  the 
man  she  called  husband  should  have  invaded  her 
apartments  with  such  a  thing — that  her  own  private 
domain  should  have  been  so  contaminated. 

With  head  very  erect  she  left  the  room,  descend 
ing  the  stairs  to  the  entrance  hall,  where  she  sum 
moned  the  servants.  All  of  them  had  been  out  of 
the  way  on  her  arrival,  for  it  was  yet  early  morning. 
None  of  them  save  the  hall  porter,  and  perhaps  Wai- 


2l8  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE   LEFT  HIM? 

demar's  man,  was  aware  of  the  presence  of  La 
Hoyle.  She  ordered  one  servant  to  procure  her 
breakfast,  another  to  announce  her  arrival  to  Mr. 
Waldemar,  and  yet  another  to  prepare  a  suite  of 
rooms  for  her  occupancy  in  another  part  of  the 
house,  forbidding  all  to  enter  the  rooms  she  had 
just  left. 

Waldemar,  who  was  in  his  bath,  received  the 
announcement  of  his  wife's  arrival  with  alarm.  It 
was  awkward.  He  awoke  La  Hoyle  hurriedly  and 
hid  her  in  his  own  apartments,  and  hastened  in  bath 
robe  and  slippers  to  detain  his  wife  until  the  room 
could  be  restored  to  a  semblance  of  order.  He  would 
have  embraced  Hilda  in  his  nervousness,  but  she  put 
him  aside  impatiently.  She  was  calm  but  con 
temptuous.  She  made  no  reference  to  what  she  had 
seen.  He  asked  when  she  had  arrived ;  she  told 
him,  and  of  the  incidents  of  her  trip.  She  was 
almost  gay  in  her  recital.  But  it  was  the  gayety 
of  hysteria. 

Waldemar,  convinced  that  his  wife  had  discovered 
nothing,  yet  wondering  at  her  manner,  returned 
when  he  thought  it  safe.  As  he  ascended  the  stairs 
he  planned  to  get  La  Hoyle  out  of  the  house  unob 
served,  and  he  cursed  his  own  weakness  that  had 
made  him  yield  to  the  wild  and  imperious  caprice 
of  La  Hoyle  to  be  entertained  in  his  house  in  his 
wife's  absence  and  to  her  arrogant  insistence  to 
occupy  his  wife's  quarters.  Waldemar  was  ruled  by 
La  Hoyle.  Subdued  by  her  charms,  he  was  enslaved 
by  fear  of  her  temper. 


ON~E  OCCURRENCE.  2»9 

Hilda,  behind  the  closed  doors  of  her  new  apart 
ments,  sought  relief  in  isolation  in  which  she  might 
bitterly  deride  the  fortune  that  had  chained  her  to 
such  a  man,  and  pray  despairingly  for  opportunity 
of  escape. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   OTHER. 

SHORTLY  after  the  return  of  the  Waldemars  to 
Berlin  there  was  a  ball  at  one  of  the  foreign  embas 
sies.  Hilda  attended.  She  was  yet  in  that  condi 
tion  of  mind  that  made  her  believe  that  the  discovery 
she  had  made  was  known  of  the  world  and  that  she 
was  looked  upon  with  contempt.  At  this  ball  Hilda 
met  Lord  Buttontrave,  attached  to  the  English 
embassy,  distinguished,  fascinating,  accomplished, 
and,  as  the  world  said,  destined  to  a  high  career  in 
diplomacy.  His  admiration  for  Hilda  was  manifest 
at  their  first  meeting.  Hilda  was  no  less  attracted 
by  him.  Thereafter  they  met  frequently.  The 
young  nobleman's  admiration  developed  into  a  pas 
sion.  And  Hilda  awoke  to  the  fact  that  love  did 
exist,  and  that  she  was  capable  of  entertaining  it 
deeply  and  passionately.  With  its  growth  for  Lord 
Buttrontrave  there  was  increase  of  contempt  for 
Waldemar.  That  her  husband  should  have  brought 
La  Hoyle  with  him  on  his  wedding  journey  seemed 
to  Hilda  to  justify  her  in  tae  feeling  she  entertained 
for  Buttontrave.  And  yet  everything  was  in  thought. 
Lord  Buttontrave  had  whispered  in  her  ear  nothing 


THE  OTHER.  »2I 

more  serious  than  a  compliment.  The  contrast  of 
the  two  men  did  more  wooing  for  Buttontrave  than 
he  did  for  himself.  One  was  a  man,  the  other 
an  apology.  She  was  not  compromised  by  the 
attentions  of  the  nobleman.  Pride  had  guarded  her 
against  that.  There  was  to  be  sure  a  little  gossip, 
but  La  Belle  Americaine,  as  she  was  called,  was 
cold,  it  was  said,  and  no  harm  came  of  it.  Once 
after  returning  from  a  ball,  at  which  Buttontrave 
had  danced  so  frequently  with  her  as  to  cause  an 
unusual  comment,  Waldemar  spoke  of  it  in  remon 
strance. 

"Do  not  fear  I  will  not  respect  myself,"  she  had 
replied  coldly.  "Before  you  give  me  advice,  show 
me  that  you  give  as  much  respect  to  me  and  your 
self  as  I  do  to  myself." 

As  he  had  spent  the  whole  day  with  La  Hoyle, 
he  did  not  care  to  continue  the  conversation,  and  he 
left  her  with  the  uncomfortable  fear  that  she  had 
come  to  have  knowledge  of  the  mistress. 

Though  Hilda  and  Buttontrave  continued  to 
meet,  the  same  reticence  which  had  characterized 
their  intercourse  from  the  first  was  maintained.  Yet 
neither  was  without  knowledge  of  the  state  of  the 
heart  of  the  other.  The  vocabulary  of  love  is  mute, 
but  none  the  less  intelligible.  Neither  knew  how  it 
would  end,  nor  perhaps  in  this,  the  springtime  of 
their  love,  cared.  But  when  the  time  came  to  return 
to  America  both  were  distressed  and  unhappy. 
The  night  before  her  departure,  on  parting  from  her, 
he  had  whispered,  "I  will  follow,"  but  she  was  not 


«»  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

comforted.  On  the  steamer's  deck,  a  few  moments 
before  sailing,  a  respectable-looking  man,  who  had 
been  hovering  about  her,  taking  advantage  of  the 
temporary  absence  of  Waldemar,  dropped  into  her 
hand  a  small  packet  not  larger  than  an  English  wal 
nut,  touched  his  hat  respectfully,  and  disappeared 
over  the  side  of  the  steamer.  Instinctively  conceal 
ing  the  packet,  she  had  examined  it  in  private.  It 
was  a  ring,  so  fashioned  that  the  colors  of  the  jewels 
made  a  "forget-me-not."  There  was  neither  word 
nor  symbol  to  indicate  from  whence  it  had  come, 
but  Hilda  knew  it  was  a  message  from  Buttontrave. 
From  that  moment  she  wore  it,  not  on  her  finger, 
but  next  her  heart.  But  she  never  expected  to  see 
Buttontrave  again.  She  was  saddened  and  despair 
ing.  That  was  the  meaning  of  her  listlessness  and 
indifference  to  all  things  upon  her  return  home. 

Once  back  in  New  York  all  semblance  of  attention 
upon  the  part  of  Waldemar  passed  away.  Hilda's 
disgust  and  contempt  for  her  husband  increased,  and 
she  was  left  to  brood  over  what  might  have  been 
had  she  not  been  hurried  by  her  mother  into  that 
hateful  marriage. 

Not  many  weeks  had  passed  before  Lord  Button 
trave,  having  thrown  over  his  post,  appeared  in  New 
York.  Rumor  said  he  had  come  to  secure  an  Ameri- 
can  heiress,  and  the  matron  mothers  were  all  agog. 
Cards  and  invitations  poured  in  upon  him,  all  of 
which  were  accepted,  for  it  was  through  these  enter- 
tainments  he  could  meet  Hilda.  This  time  he  put 
no  restraint  upon  himself.  He  whispered  words  of 


THE   OTHER.  223 

love  into  her  ears,  and  she  listened  with  the  eager- 
ness  of  a  starved  soul.  So,  when  finally  proposing 
to  throw  to  the  winds,  for  her  sake  and  love,  the 
ambitions  of  a  career  he  had  cherished,  he  had 
offered  flight  as  their  destiny,  she  had  accepted. 
But  at  the  very  moment  of  its  consummation  she 
had  recoiled,  and  in  a  panic  escaped  to  Dorothy. 

"Does  your  husband  know  of  your  flight?"  asked 
Dorothy,  when  there  was  no  more  to  be  told. 

"No." 

"But  he  has  learned  of  it  by  this  time?" 

Hilda  laughed  bitterly. 

"He  rarely  comes  in  until  the  night  is  nearly  over, 
and  then  he  goes  straight  to  his  own  room.  He 
will  know  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"He  will  know  on  finding  you  gone?" 

"I  left  a  note  to  be  handed  him  by  Ellen." 

Ellen  was  an  old  Courtenay  servant,  transferred 
to  Hilda. 

Dorothy  thought  a  brief  moment,  and  then  said : 

"Stay  where  you  are.  Do  not  leave  this  room 
until  I  return." 

Hastening  to  Trescotte  and  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen, 
Dorothy  told  them  so  much  as  was  necessary  to 
make  them  understand  the  situation. 

"Lord  Buttontrave  must  leave  the  country,"  said 
Trescotte  promptly.  "I  will  attend  to  that.  Then 
that  letter  to  Waldemar — that  must  be  recovered. 
When  these  things  are  done  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  consider  the  next  step." 

"My  carriage  is  at  the  door,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs. 


824  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

Trevor-Allen.  "I  will  drive  you  to  Hilda's  house. 
Come." 

Trescotte,  approving  this,  hurriedly  departed. 
Calling  Downs,  Dorothy  said  to  him : 

"Mrs.  Waldemar  is  in  my  room.  She  is  not  well — 
in  fact,  very  ill.  Watch  her  faithfully  during  my 
absence,  and  if  she  tries  to  leave  the  house,  detain 
her,  even  if  you  have  to  use  force." 

The  two  women  hurried  away.  Both  were  silent, 
busy  with  their  own  thoughts.  Each  would  have 
been  astonished  could  she  have  read  the  other's 
mind.  Dorothy  was  thinking  how  Lou  Graham 
(her  friend)  and  her  sister  Hilda  had  been  sacrificed 
upon  the  altar  of  wealth  and  society,  and  how  differ 
ently  each  had  borne  the  test,  and  her  affection,  as 
did  her  admiration,  increased  for  the  brave  little 
woman  beside  her,  who  had  so  uncomplainingly 
borne  her  crown  of  sorrow.  And  Mrs.  Trevor- Allen 
was  thinking  how  true  the  woman  sitting  beside  her 
had  been  to  her  love  and  her  ideals,  and  how  nobly 
she  had  borne  the  world's  misunderstanding  of  her, 
and  her  affection  for  Dorothy,  as  did  her  admiration, 
increased. 

As  they  were  nearing  the  house,  Dorothy  sud 
denly  threw  her  arms  about  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and 
whispered : 

"Lou,  dear,  when  Mr.  Magrane  comes  to  you  to 
morrow  night,  ask  him  to  take  no  steps  for  the 
present  about  Mrs.  Adams'  boy." 

"You  heard  our  talk  to-night?" 

"Yes," 


THE  OTHER.  225 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?" 

"I  want  to  think  it  all  out." 

They  had  reached  Waldemar's  house,  and  the  car- 
riage  had  stopped  as  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  gave  her 
consent. 

It  did  not  require  many  minutes  to  persuade 
Ellen  to  give  up  the  letter  sought.  Dorothy  was 
her  favorite,  and  it  was  enough  for  Dorothy  to  tell 
her  that  Hilda  was  ill  at  her  home,  and  wished  the 
letter.  The  two  women  returned,  pleased  that  by 
the  recovery  of  the  letter  a  scandal  had  been 
averted. 

Dorothy  found  her  sister  sitting  as  she  had  left 
her,  dry-eyed  and  staring  into  vacancy.  She  handed 
the  letter  to  Hilda,  telling  her  to  destroy  it.  Hilda 
took  it,  stared  at  it  dumbly,  then  realizing  what  it 
was,  gave  herself  up  to  a  paroxysm  of  anger. 

"Why  do  you  interfere  in  my  affairs?"  she  cried 
"I  will  go  to  him!     He  waits  for  me   now!     The 
man  I- 

She  broke  down  and,  throwing  herself  upon  Dor 
othy's  neck,  burst  into  tears. 

"The  best  thing  that  could  have  happened  to  her," 
commented  the  practical  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  'It 
will  save  her  from  brain  fever  or  something.  Now 
put  her  to  bed  and  I'll  go  home." 

In  the  meantime,  Trescotte  had  hurried  to  the 
opera  house.  The  hour  was  late  and  the  distance 
far.  He  feared  the  opera  would  be  over  before  he 
could  get  downtown.  Calling  a  hack  at  the  corner, 
he  promised  double  fare  to  be  driven  rapidly.  As 


226  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

he  turned  from  Seventh  Avenue  into  Fortieth 
Street  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  blazing 
lights  of  the  house  and  the  long  line  of  carriages. 
Signaling  the  driver  to  stop,  he  dismissed  him, 
and  sauntering  up  the  street  on  the  side  opposite  to 
the  opera  house,  peered  into  every  carriage.  He 
had  not  met  Lord  Buttontrave,  but  he  was  certain 
he  would  know  him.  Find  him  he  must,  if  he  fol 
lowed  him  all  night.  The  Champagne  sailed  at  six 
the  next  morning  and  Buttontrave  must  sail  with  it. 
He  reached  Broadway  without  finding  his  man.  On 
the  corner  he  stopped  to  think.  If,  he  thought,  it 
was  arranged  that  in  joining  him  it  was  to  appear 
as  if  Hilda  was  leaving  the  opera,  then  Buttontrave 
would  be  near  the  main  entrance  where  he  could 
watch  for  her  coming.  Acting  upon  this  thought 
he  crossed  the  street  and  walked  rapidly  down  to 
that  entrance.  Near  the  covered  way  he  saw  a 
coach  about  which  there  was  an  air  of  mystery. 
The  curtains  were  drawn  over  the  side  windows. 
He  approached  it.  The  man  he  was  looking  for 
was  within  it. 

'My  lord, "he  said  as  he  opened  the  door  without 
ado,  "permit  me  to  present  myself.  I  am  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte." 

The  nobleman  was  congealed  haughtiness. 

"Your  intrusion  is  unpardonably  impertinent,"  he 
replied. 

"I  think  not,"  returned  Trescotte  steadily,  with  a 
tone  of  severity  that  made  the  other  stare  hard  into 
the  eyes  of  him  who  had  so  unceremoniously  thrust 


THE  OTHER.  «7 

himself  into  the  coach.  "My  name  perhaps  conveys 
nothing  to  you.  My  wife — Mrs.  Trescotte — is  a 
sister  of  Mrs.  Waldemar." 

The  face  of  the  Englishman  was  inscrutable. 
Upon  the  word  Waldemar  he  was  on  guard  at  every 
point.  He  bowed  haughtily. 

"Mrs.  Waldemar  is  at  my  house,"  continued 
Trescotte,  "quite  ill,  under  Mrs.  Trescotte's  care. 
She  will  be  unable  to  leave  the  house  to-night,  and 
will  not  see  anyone." 

The  nobleman  regretted  to  hear  it. 

"Permit  me  to  suggest,"  Trescotte  went  on  in  his 
cold,  severe,  and  yet  perfectly  courteous  tone,  "that 
you  would  do  well  to  take  possession  of  your  state 
room  on  the  Champagne  to-night.  It  sails  at  six, 
and  it  is  unpleasant  to  rise  so  early." 

The  nobleman  was  of  the  opinion  that  Mr.  Tres 
cotte  was  too  solicitous  as  to  his  comfort. 

"It  is  much  the  easier  way,"  replied  Trescotte. 
"It  will  save  much  annoyance.  As  yet  Mr.  Walde 
mar  knows  nothing  that  should  disturb  him. 
Believe  me,  my  lord,  we  don't  fight  duels  here.  But 
public  sentiment  justifies  the  outraged  husband  in 
taking  a  summary  justice  into  his  own  hands." 

"Please  tell  cabby  to  drive  to  the  Brevoort 
House,"  said  the  nobleman.  "Good-night." 

Trescotte  did  as  he  was  requested,  closed  the 
door  of  the  coach,  bade  Lord  Buttontrave  good 
night  and  went  home. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HILDA   RETURNS  HOME. 

HILDA  was  saved.  For  what?  A  joyless  exist 
ence  with  a  man  whom  she  loathed  and  despised 
from  the  bottom  of  her  bitter  soul. 

The  next  step  was  the  subject  of  an  earnest  dis 
cussion  between  Trescotte  and  Dorothy  the  next 
morning.  Trescotte  was  urgent  in  his  opinion  that 
Hilda  should  return  to  her  own  home  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  thus  avoid  the  possibility  of  a  scanda 
lous  talk.  Whatever  arrangements  Hilda  wanted 
to  make  for  her  future  life,  in  his  judgment,  could 
better  be  initiated  from  her  home  than  elsewhere. 
And  Dorothy  agreed  with  him. 

After  a  night's  sleep  Hilda  was  in  a  better  frame 
of  mind  to  look  upon  her  situation.  As  I  have  had 
occasion  to  remark,  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
the  inconsistencies  and  contradictions  of  the  female 
heart.  And  so  without  attempted  explanation,  I 
merely  state  that  Hilda  awoke  at  once  glad  and 
regretful.  She  was  glad  to  find  herself  under  the 
protecting  Trescotte  wing,  safe  from  the  fascina 
tions  of  adorable  English  noblemen,  and  regretful 
that  the  particular  adorable  English  nobleman,  fas 
cinating  to  her,  was  disappointed  in  his  enterprise 

3*8 


HILDA    RETURNS  HOME.  229 

and  had  fled  America  without  even  an  effort  to  see 
her  again.  Indeed,  now  that  the  danger  and  the 
possibility  of  yielding  was  passed,  she  longed  pas 
sionately  for  the  opportunity  of  yielding.  Since 
Lord  Buttontrave  was  secure  on  the  deck  of  an 
ocean  steamer,  she  vowed  to  herself  if  he  were  to 
open  the  door  of  her  room  and  say  "Come !"  she 
would  rise  up  and  follow  him  with  gratitude.  In 
deed,  as  all  the  joy  and  happiness  which,  in  her 
dreams  during  the  days  preceding  the  day  of  action, 
she  had  promised  herself  with  Lord  Buttontrave 
receded  from  her  view  and  became  impossible,  she 
yearned  for  them,  at  the  very  moment  she  felt 
strong  in  the  security  of  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
on  that  steamer  deck.  And  she  visited  Trescotte, 
who  had  sent  the  fascinating  young  nobleman  away, 
with  no  displeasure. 

To  the  contemplation  of  Waldemar  she  turned 
with  positive  hatred.  She  was  angry  with  Dorothy 
because  she  had  not  let  the  letter  go  to  its  destina 
tion  to  forever  and  for  all  time  sever  the  bonds  of 
the  hateful  tie.  It  was  difficult  for  Trescotte  to 
make  her  see  that,  if  she  contemplated  divorce,  such 
a  course  would  have  placed  a  weapon  in  the  hand  of 
Waldemar,  while  under  the  recovery  and  destruc 
tion  of  the  letter  he  was  practically  defenseless. 

But  to  urge  her,  or  to  encourage  Hilda  in  the 
obtainment  of  a  divorce  was  not  the  purpose  of 
Trescotte;  nor  was  it  of  Dorothy.  Indeed  both  of 
them  shrank  from  the  idea  with  a  sincerity  quite 
amusing  to  a  cyncial  old  fogy  like  myself.  Here 


«3°  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM! 

were  these  two  people,  still  smarting  under  stings, 
and  whose  backs  were  yet  raw  with  the  lashes 
which  had  been  laid  on  by  society,  employing 
with  Hilda  the  very  same  arguments  that  had 
been  used  against  them.  Mrs.  Courtenay  could 
not  have  placed  the  awful  frowns  of  society  and 
the  terrible  consequences  of  the  avertance  of  its 
countenance  before  her  sister,  any  more  forcibly  than 
did  dear  little  Dorothy.  Her  arguments  were  to 
me  the  strongest  assurance  that  Dorothy  was  secure 
in  the  faith  that  the  life  she  was  living  was  just  and 
moral. 

Hilda,  whose  ability  to  follow  the  argument  was 
somewhat  obstructed  by  considerations  of  Dorothy's 
own  doubtful  relations,  and  yet  unable  to  combat 
them,  reluctantly  yielded.  When  she  left  her  home 
the  previous  night  it  was  with  the  belief  that  the 
hateful  bonds  were  severed  for  all  time.  Though 
she  had  failed  in  courage  to  carry  out  her  purpose, 
the  thought  of  returning  was  distressing.  As  a  con 
cession  to  society  and  the  sacred  Courtenay  family 
only  would  she  go  back,  and  if  she  did,  it  must  be 
with  the  distinct  understanding  that  if  not  an 
apparent,  a  virtual  separation  from  Waldemar  should 
result,  with  a  separate  allowance,  and  no  intercourse 
with  her  husband  except  in  public  and  for  the  sake 
of  propriety.  Only  on  these  conditions  would  she 
return.  Trescotte  engaged  to  undertake  this  enter 
prise,  and  so  Hilda  went  back  to  her  home,  and  Wal 
demar  arose  at  noon  unaware  that  his  wife  had  not 
spent  the  night  under  his  roof. 


HILDA   RETURNS  HOME.  *J' 

Trsecotte's  mission  was  not  agreeable.  A  little 
thought  showed  him  that  his  chances  for  success 
would  be  better  were  he  to  deal  with  the  elder  Wal- 
demar.  The  younger  man  was  pugnacious  and 
would  be  inclined  to  ask  upon  what  authority  he, 
Trescotte,  interfered  in  his  marital  affairs,  and  to 
suggest  the  advisability  of  straightening  out  his  own 
troubles  before  engaging  in  an  effort  to  correct  those 
of  other  people,  but  he  had  given  his  word  to  Hilda, 
and  there  was  no  one  else  to  act  for  her.  So  he 
sought  the  elder  Waldemar  in  his  bank  parlor. 

There  was  an  ominous  frown  and  a  dark  look  in 
his  eyes  as  Trescotte  revealed  the  turpitude  of  Wal 
demar  the  younger.  No  one  could  be  more  insolent 
or  more  audaciously  and  courteously  haughty  than 
the  elder  Waldemar. 

"Do  you  not  think,"  said  the  old  banker,  with 
that  accent  which  made  his  words  so  impressive, 
"that  this  is  a  very  singular  mission  for  you  to  be 
employed  upon?  One,  my  dear  Mr.  Trescotte, 
ought  not  to  hurl  stones  if  in  a  glass  house  he  lives." 

"Mr.  Waldemar,"  replied  Mr.  Trescotte,  with  an 
air  quite  as  haughty  and  a  tone  quite  as  arrogant,  "a 
man  should  not  even  refer  to  a  matter  of  which  he 
is  wholly  ignorant.  I  shall  not  affect  not  to  under- 
stand  that  you  are  referring  to  that  gossip  which 
slanderous  tongues  distinguished  me  with.  You  are 
wholly  ignorant  as  to  my  relations,  and  being  so,  any 
reference  you  may  make  to  them  is  cowardly." 

"Sir!" 

"I  mean  precisely  what  I  say.     If  this  is  to  end 


*32  SHOULD   SHE   HA  trE  LEFT  HIM? 

our  interview,  then  I  will  carry  the  commission  I 
have  received  to  a  lawyer.  I  had  hoped  for  the  sake 
of  two  families — the  Waldemarsand  the  Courtenays 
— that  my  mission  would  be  received  with  courtesy, 
and  thus  trouble  and  scandal  would  be  avoided. 
You  shall  choose." 

This  was  summary  proceeding,  and  Trescotte 
rose,  hat  in  hand,  and  assumed  an  attitude  of  wait 
ing. 

The  elder  Waldemar  was  as  politic  as  he  was  arro 
gant.  He  smiled  as  he  said : 

"You  are  a  diplomat,  sir.  Resume  your  seat  and 
let  me  know  what  the  young  Mrs.  Waldemar 
demands.  But  first  let  me  ask  if  there  is  not  a  pos 
sibility  that  her  charges  against  her  husband  may  be 
disputed." 

"An  hour  devoted  to  inquiry,  Mr.  Waldemar, 
would  assure  you  of  the  relations  existing  between 
your  son  and  the  woman  known  as  La  Hoyle.  With 
the  facts  in  my  possession  and  the  proof  which  I 
will  submit,  you  can  assure  yourself  that  the  rela 
tion  has  existed  so  long  that  it  antedates  your  son's 
marriage  by  a  year;  that  when  Hermann  went  to 
Germany  on  his  wedding  journey  La  Hoyle  followed 
him,  and  during  the  whole  of  that  trip  he  did  not 
lose  sight  of  her." 

The  old  banker  was  shocked. 

"Enough!"  he  cried ;  "if  this  be  true  there  is  no 
defense  for  him.  That  was  bad;  the  wedding  jour 
ney,  that  was  bad." 

The  inference  seemed  to  be  that  in  the  mind  of 


HILDA   RETURNS  HOME.  233 

the  old  gentleman,  if  it  were  not  for  the  episode  of 
the  wedding  journey,  the  rest  might  be  forgiven. 

"If  Hermann  gives  up  the  girl,"  he  said,  "gives 
assurances  of  reform,  Hilda  will  pardon  him?" 

"I  think  not?" 

"And  indeed,  why?" 

"Her  pride  has  been  outraged.  With  your  expe 
rience  in  life,  sir,  you  will  understand  the  potency 
of  that.  Do  not  misunderstand  her  position.  Her 
desire  is  a  release  by  divorce.  Mrs.  Trescotte  and 
myself  have  persuaded  her  from  that,  but  no  power 
will  alter  her  present  determination.  If  it  is  not 
granted  she  will  leave  his  roof." 

"Why,  then,"  asked  Mr.  Waldemar,  "has  Mrs. 
Waldemar  the  younger  waited  more  than  a  year 
after  her  discovery  to  make  her  charges?" 

It  was  not  the  purpose  of  Trescotte  to  tell  the 
old  gentleman  the  incidents  which  had  led  up  to 
Hilda's  determination.  His  memory  and  ready  wit 
served  him. 

"La  Hoyle  had  a  seat  on  Hermann's  drag  at  the 
races  yesterday,  and  Hermann  held  the  whip  himself. 
She  was  flaunted,  permit  me  to  say,  in  the  faces  of 
Mrs.  Waldemar's  friends  and  associates — the  culmi 
nation  of  a  long  series  of  insults  and  humiliations." 

The  old  banker  thought  for  a  while  and  then  said  : 

"It  is  a  pity  that  Mrs.  Waldemar  the  younger 
could  not  be  persuaded  that  the  better  way  would 
be  to  accept  Hermann's  assurances  of  reform.  But 
you  say  that  is  impossible.  Well,  it  shall  have  to 
be,  then,  as  she  will  dictate.  I  will  examine,  and  in 


*34      SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

a  day  or  two  will  communicate  with  you  as  her 
representative.  I  presume  it  is  the  best  way  out  of 
a  very  distressing  business." 

Thus  the  interview  ended,  and  Trescotte,  as  he 
went  away,  was  certain  that  the  old  banker  thought 
that  the  end  of  the  arrangement  proposed  would  be 
the  reconciliation  of  the  two  young  people,  and  in 
that  belief  was  inclined  to  yield. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DOROTHY'S  SACRAMENTS. 

WHILE  Trescotte  was  submitting  the  Waldemar 
entanglement  to  the  old  banker,  Dorothy  was  sitting 
beside  the  cradle  of  her  firstborn.  Two  subjects 
possessed  her  mind.  Crooning  a  lullaby,  soft  and 
low,  as  she  gently  swung  the  cradle  of  her  new  joy 
and  hope,  she  was  lost  in  deep  meditation. 

Hilda's  hopeless  position,  her  unhappiness,  her 
narrow  escape  from  shame  and  disgrace  was  one  of 
her  subjects.  Could  Mrs.  Deekman  and  Mrs.  Bees- 
tonmy  have  read  the  thoughts  of  Dorothy  at  this 
time,  I  greatly  fear  they  would  have  been  confirmed 
in  the  justice  of  the  crusade  they  had  organized 
against  this  young  mother.  Her  thoughts  were  bit 
ter  against  society, — the  society  she  knew — its  ideals, 
its  motives,  its  morals,  and  its  educational  influences. 
So  dead  had  she  become  to  the  code  upheld  by 
such  superexcellent  women  as  the  two  who  had  led 
in  the  ostracism  of  herself,  that  she  actually  pro 
nounced  that  society  as  false,  wicked,  even  without 
common  sense,  which  is  much  worse,  as  we  all 
know,  than  being  false  or  wicked.  When  she  sur 
veyed  the  field  and  saw  that  Waldemar  was  no  bet 
ter  nor  no  worse  than  others  of  his  rank,  in  the  life 


236  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM/ 

he  led,  restrained  a  little  less,  perhaps,  by  a  sense  of 
propriety  and  good  taste,  she  felt  that  in  looking 
down  into  the  depths  of  Hilda's  misery  she  saw 
glimpses  of  the  life  of  half  the  households  of  her 
acquaintances.  When  she  thought  of  Hilda,  alone 
in  that  great  house,  in  the  flush  of  health,  young 
and  beautiful,  yet  with  not  a  single  ray  of  hope  to 
lift  her  up,  she  thought  she  was  looking  into  the 
hearts  of  half  the  women  with  whom,  in  her  girl 
hood,  she  had  romped  and  played.  With  that 
peculiar  perversity  I  have  noted  more  than  once  in 
the  course  this  veracious  history,  she  actually  said 
to  herself:  "In  a  world  where  common  sense  and 
good  morals  reign,  Hilda's  position  with  Lord  But- 
tontrave  would  be  considered  no  worse  than  her 
position  with  Waldemar,  in  which  union  only 
wealth  and  high  position  were  considered." 

Of  course  she  was  very  bitter,  and  it  must  be 
admitted  she  was  very  sorry  for  her  sister.  She  had 
acquiesced  in  the  proposed  virtual  separation  of 
Hilda  from  Waldemar,  not  as  a  settlement  of  her 
troubles,  but  as  a  mitigation  of  the  horrors  of 
Hilda's  life.  And  this  woman,  bred  in  the  most 
exclusive  circles  of  that  society,  in  the  most  conser 
vative  manner,  educated  to  believe  that  position 
within  it  was  the  highest  aim  of  life,  was  led  by  her 
thoughts  to  pronounce,  as  the  summation  of  her 
observations  and  experience,  this  dictum :  "Its 
teachings  lead  women  to  forget  their  self-respect 
and  virtue;  Hilda  should  have  a  divorce."  The 
justice  of  my  fear,  that  Mesdames  Deekman  and 


DOROTHY'S  SACRAMENTS.  237 

Beestonmy  would  have  been  shocked  and  saddened, 
is,  I  think,  made  very  clear. 

That  she  should  contrast  Hilda's  position  and  her 
own  was  natural.  The  little  cloud  that  had  rested 
upon  her  own  happiness  put  forward  its  claims  for 
consideration — that  cloud  which  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen 
had  said  was  of  her  own  making — the  jealousy  she 
had  permitted  to  take  sway  and  erect  that  intangible 
something  between  herself  and  her  husband.  Under 
the  guidance  of  this  thought  she  traveled  gently  and 
by  degrees  to  the  second  subject  of  her  meditations. 

She  admitted  that  in  entertaining  the  unworthy 
thought  she  had  justified  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen's  up. 
braiding.  Even  when  she  tried  to  excuse  herself  in 
the  love  she  bore  Trescotte  and  her  desire  to  be 
everything  to  him,  she  was  compelled  to  confess 
that  littleness  and  selfishness  had  been  at  the  bottom 
of  her  weakness.  Bending  over  the  babe  sleep 
ing  so  peacefully  and  trying  to  trace  on  that 
infantile  face  the  lineaments  of  its  father,  and  con 
trasting  the  love,  tenderness,  and  nobility  of  that 
father  with  the  vice,  brutality,  and  ignominy  of 
Hilda's  husband,  she  vowed  to  dismiss  all  vestige  of 
such  weakness  and  be  worthy  herself  and  the  man, 
the  love  of  whom  had  rescued  her  from  her  sister's 
fate.  In  this  vow  was  the  third  sacrament  of  her 
life — a  sacrament  as  holy  as  any  at  churchly  altar, 
or  under  priestly  hands — a  sacrament,  the  influences 
of  which  were  dignifying  and  evolutionary. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  association  of  ideas  that 
brought  to  her  mind  Mrs.  Adams  and  her  passionate 


ajS  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VR  LEFT  HIM? 

desire  to  be  restored  to  her  husband.  Perhaps  in 
the  desire,  which  found  place  in  these  self-commun- 
ings,  there  was  emulation  of  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen.  I 
do  not  believe  it,  rather  I  think  it  was  the  direct 
outcome  of  the  resolves  she  had  made  over  the  pure 
face  of  the  babe  she  was  crooning  to.  Her  heart 
was  full  of  pity  for  the  unfortunate  boy  whose  mere 
existence  was  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble,  and 
who  stood  in  the  way  of  a  reconciliation  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Adams. 

So  deep  and  absorbing  were  her  meditations  on 
this  point  that  she  forgot  to  croon  and  to  rock. 
With  a  hand  resting  on  the  cradle  and  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes,  she  sat  motionless  a  long  time. 
By  and  by  there  came  upon  her  face  an  expression 
that  was  saintlike  and  holy.  The  babe,  missing  the 
croon  and  the  motion,  turned  uneasily,  and  the 
young  mother,  lifting  it  from  its  cradle,  and  cuddling 
it  in  her  arms,  covered  its  face  with  her  own  and 
breathed  into  its  ears  another  vow.  And  that 
was  the  fourth  sacrament  of  her  life — a  sacrament 
which  in  its  influence  upon  her  was  ennobling  and 
revolutionary. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  hall  and  a  light  rap  at  the 
door.  Her  husband,  returning  from  his  mission,  was 
seeking  her.  With  her  babe  in  her  arms  she 
admitted  him  herself,  and,  at  the  threshold,  met  him 
with  a  kiss  so  tender  and  so  clinging  that  he  won 
dered  at  it.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes ;  he  lifted  her 
face  to  him.  She  smiled.  April  sunshine  through 
a  shower. 


DOROTHYS  SACRAMENTS.  239 

"Why,"  he  asked,  "what  is  all  this?" 

"You  are  so  good  to  me.  And  I  have  made  a 
vow.  I  mean  to  be  worthy  of  you." 

"Worthy  of  me?"  he  repeated,  in  a  tone  which 
said  she  was  already  worthy  a  dozen  such  as  he. 

"Yes.  I  will  tell  you — when  you  have  told  me 
what  Mr.  Waldemar  says — something  I  have  to 
propose." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
DOROTHY'S  PROPOSAL. 

THE  following  evening,  at  early  candle  light,  as 
they  used  to  call  it,  before  the  fashion  of  hurrying 
through  this  jostling  world  had  brought  about  a 
minute  and  prompt  observance  of  hours  and  division 
of  hours,  Tracey  Harte  was  entertaining  the  widow 
Trevor-Allen  with  all  the  current  gossip  of  the 
day.  He  was  her  only  purveyor  now  that  she  was 
withdrawn  from  society  for  a  period  of  decorous 
mourning. 

When  he  had  unloaded  his  quantum  (and  she 
had  been  unusually  unattentive  and  had  actually 
yawned  twice  during  his  most  exciting  morsel)  she 
disturbed  his  self-satisfied  serenity  with  this  remark: 

"Tracey,  you  must  stop  calling  on  me." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen !" 

"Yes,  dear  boy,  you  must.  When  I  was  a  wife  it 
was  all  very  well,  but  now  that  I  am  a  widow,  and 
must  regard  propriety,  people  will  talk.  One  can 
stand  a  little  scandal  when  one  is  a  wife,  but  talk, 
especially  if  one  is  without  a  husband,  oh,  my !" 

And  the  vivacious  little  woman  turned  up  her 
dainty  hands  and  her  lovely  eyes  in  horrified  protest. 

"Oh,  I  say,  that  is  rough !  "  stammered  the  luckless 


DOROTHY'S  PROPOSAL,  241 

youth.     "You  know  I  won't  know  what  to  do  if  I 
haven't  got  you  to  bully  me." 

"It's  sad,  I  know,"  rejoined  the  lively  widow. 
"Some  sacrifice  to  the  god  Propriety  is  demanded. 
And,  in  view  of  all  I  have  done  for  you  in  the  way 
of  completing  your  education,  it  is  the  littlest  thing 
you  can  do  for  me — make  a  sacrifice." 

"You  can  bully  me  as  much  as  you  want,"  said 
Tracey  dolorously.  "I  rather  like  it,  but  don't  laugh 
at  me." 

Before  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  could  reply  a  servant 
handed  her  the  card  of  Mr.  Magrane. 

"Perhaps  that's  the  reason  why  I  am  dismissed," 
said  Tracey,  much  crestfallen,  and  not  without  a 
pang  of  jealousy,  as  the  servant  disappeared. 

"Now,  Tracey,  don't  be  silly,"  laughed  the  lady 
"You  are  not  in  love  with  me;  you  couldn't  be,  it 
you  tried.  And  you  haven't  even  tried  to  try.  You 
simply  like  me.  You're  a  very  nice  youth.  Bu^ 
never  be  jealous  of  a  woman's  lawyer." 

"Why?" 

"Because  she  has  to  show  up  her  unpleasant  and 
mercenary  side  to  him,  and  she's  such  a  fool  about 
business  that  she  knows  she  is  disgusting  her  lawyer 
all  the  time.  No  woman  falls  in  love  with  a  manv 
unless  she  first  is  pleased  with  herself  for  having 
pleased  the  man.  There  is  a  small  bit  of  truth  for 
you,  by  which  you  ought  to  profit,  if  you  mean  to 
push  your  career  as  a  heartbreaker.  Go  now,  dear 
boy,  this  is  a  business  engagement." 

Tracey,   believing    himself   badly   treated,   gave 


242  SHOULD  SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM? 

place  to  Mr.  Magrane  and  went  to  his  club  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual,  where,  to  relieve  his  feelings,  he 
swore  at  the  waiters. 

"I  have  been  thinking  over  that  proposal  of  yours 
to  adopt  the  boy  of  Mrs.  Adams,"  said  the  lawyer, 
introducing  the  subject  which  was  the  excuse  of  his 
visit — "thinking  it  over  very  carefully." 

"Oh,  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  indiffer 
ently.  "Mrs.  Trescotte  wants  me  to  take  no  steps 
for  the  present." 

"You  have  talked  to  her  about  it?"  asked  Mr. 
Magrane  in  astonishment. 

"She  overheard  our  conversation  last  night  and 
afterward  asked  me  to  do  nothing  about  it  for  a 
while." 

"Did  she  tell  you  why  she  wanted  delay?" 

"No." 

"It  is  singular,  since  a  reconciliation  between  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Adams  would  help  her  own  situation  so 
much." 

"I  do  not  understand  that  she  opposes  it,"  said 
the  lady,  "only  that  she  wants  it  deferred  for  the 
present." 

"Well,  we  may  talk  about  it  all  events,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "I'm  quite  enamored  of  the  idea." 

"Then  you  see  no  objections?" 

"None,  except  those  the  mother  may  make,  and 
those  you  say  may  be  overcome." 

"By  convincing  her  that  the  sacrifice  she  is  asked 
to  make  is  for  the  good  of  the  boy." 

The  lawyer  did  not  reply,  but  was  busy  with  his 


DOROTHYS  PROPOSAL.  243 

thoughts  for  a  while.  Then  he  remarked,  as  if  his 
words  were  a  reflection  upon  what  he  had  been 
thinking,  rather  than  an  answer  to  her  last  speech  : 

"Your  sex  is  incomprehensible." 

"To  your  sex?"  laughed  the  lady.  "Only  be 
cause  you  look  too  deeply  for  our  motives." 

"Perhaps.  Our  sex  acts  from  reason;  yours  from 
impulse." 

"No,  not  impulse,  intuition — conclusions  without 
the  slow  processes  of  thought,  and  with  as  much 
purpose  and  result  as  from  your  reason." 

"More."  He  thought  a  moment  longer  and  said 
kindly :  "You  are  a  very  good  woman,  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen.  To  serve  people  who  have  won  your  sym 
pathy  you  would  burden  yourself  with  the  care  of 
this  child." 

The  lady  laughed  merrily. 

"How  little  you  know,  after  all,  of  our  sex.  I'm 
pure  selfishness.  This  act  was  prompted  by  selfish 
ness.  Bored  with  the  emptiness  of  my  life,  I  want 
something  to  fill  it  up." 

"You  are  deriding  yourself,"  said  the  lawyer,  not 
pleased. 

"I  am  not,"  said  the  lady,  pleased  to  see  him  dis 
pleased.  "Into  the  life  of  every  woman,  not  utterly 
abandoned  to  some  fault  or  vice,  there  comes  at 
some  period  a  desire  to  have  something  to  love, 
care  for,  to  worry  about,  to  suffer  for.  It  has  come 
to  me." 

The  lawyer  turned  upon  her  a  grave  look,  search 
ing  yet  kindly ;  into  his  eyes  crept  a  light  of  mingled 


244  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIMf 

humor  and  admiration.     Withal  there  was  such  a 
quizzical  look  that  the  lady  was  abashed. 
Then  he  quoted : 

"  Those  graceful  acts. 
Those  thousand  decencies,  that  daily  flow 
From  all  her  words  and  actions." 

For  once  that  ready  tongue  was  without  reply. 
She  blushed,  becoming  angry  because  she  did,  and 
blushed  again.  She  was  relieved  by  the  entrance  of 
a  servant  who  brought  the  cards  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trescotte.  Hailing  their  coming  as  a  deliverance, 
she  instructed  that  they  be  brought  to  the  apart 
ment  in  which  they  were  sitting. 

"We  knew  we  should  find  you  here,  Mr.  Magrane," 
said  Dorothy,  after  the  exchange  of  salutations, 
"and  it  was  because  of  it  that  we  came.  Oh,  I  know 
that's  not  nice,  Lou,  to  you — that  is,  that  it  doesn't 
seem  so,  but  we  have  something  to  propose,  and  we 
wanted  you  two  to  hear  it  together  and  advise  us." 

"You  hurt  and  flatter  my  pride  in  a  breath," 
laughed  the  widow,  pleased  to  have  the  Trescottes 
there  to  stop  that  lawyer's  disconcerting  looks. 
"What  is  the  important  proposition?" 

"Harry  will  tell  you,"  replied  Dorothy,  on  whose 
cheeks  were  signs  of  the  excitement  she  was  labor 
ing  under.  "It  is  very  important  and  serious." 

"It  is  something  Mrs.  Trescotte  proposes."  Tres 
cotte  as  a  matter  of  principle  always  spoke  of  his 
wife  as  Mrs.  Trescotte  before  others,  no  matter  how 
close  to  her  they  were.  "She  overheard  your  con- 


DOROTHY'S  PROPOSAL.  «45 

versation  last  night  and  the  proposal  to  take  the 
child  for  adoption  by  you,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  and  it 
seems  it  set  her  to  thinking." 

"That  and  some  other  things  not  necessary  to 
mention  here,"  broke  in  Dorothy. 

"She  heard  your  arguments  too,  especially  that 
which  set  forth  the  position  of  the  lad  if  he  is 
allowed  to  grow  up  under  the  present  relations  and 
conditions.  She  has  been  thinking  to-day,  it  seems, 
and  much  to  my  amazement,  and  I  may  say  not  a 
little  to  my  perplexity,  this  afternoon  proposed  that 
we,  she  and  I,  should  adopt  the  boy." 

"Very  disinterested  in  Mrs.  Trescotte,  I'm  sure,'r 
said  Mr.  Magrane,  a  little  surprised,  and,  sniffing  a 
conflict  with  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  prepared  to  side 
with  her. 

"Not  at  all!"  cried  out  the  widow,  owing  him  one 
for  having  disconcerted  her.  "It  is  only  her  duty, 
and  what  I  knew  she  would  do  when  she  came  to 
her  own  sweet  self." 

"But  you  wanted  the  child?"  said  the  lawyer,  dis 
composed  by  the  prompt  rejection  of  his  proffer  of 
an  alliance. 

"I  don't.     But  if  I  did,  Dorothy  is  the  proper  per 
son   to  take   it,"  she   said,  and   then  a  little   mali 
ciously,  "we'll  give  you  some  time  to  reason  upor 
the  truth  of  this  remark;  I  have  arrived  at  it  b\ 
intuition." 

"I  want  to  say,"  Trescotte  went  on  gravely,  "tha^ 
this  conclusion  was  arrived  at  without  consulting 
me.  It  is  a  way  Mrs.  Trescotte  has  of  thinking  out 


246  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM f 

troublesome  things  by  herself  and  giving  me  the 
results  of  her  cogitations." 

Trescotte  looked  at  his  wife  with  a  tender  smile, 
for  his  mind  went  back  to  that  summer  day  in  Sara- 
toga,  two  years  before,  when  their  destiny  was 
decided.  The  lawyer  knew  what  he  meant.  Tres 
cotte  continued: 

"In  the  forming  of  her  opinion  I  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do.  What  credit  there  is  in  the  nobility 
of  the  thought  is  hers." 

"Never  mind  that,  Harry,  keep  to  the  story,'* 
laughed  his  wife,  a  little  nervously. 

"And  the  thought  is  noble,"  ignoring  her  inter 
ruption.  "But  I  am  much  disturbed  and  perplexed 
by  it,  seeing  many  objections.  My  relation  to  the 
matter  is  singular  and  perplexing.  My  duties  are 
conflicting,  and  I  have  not  arrived  at  any  conclusion." 

"It  is  time  you  did,"  put  in  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen. 
"And  that  you  conclude  to  take  the  boy  if  Mrs. 
Adams  will  let  you." 

"Another  intuition,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen?"  asked 
the  lawyer. 

"Another  intuition,  Mr.  Magrane,"  laughed  the 
lady.  "Hurry  up  with  the  reasoning  part.  It  is 
one  of  the  penalties  we  have  to  pay,  Dorothy,"  she 
said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Trescotte,  who  had  taken  a 
seat  beside  her,  "for  the  sweet  consolation  of  men's 
society.  They  will  reason,  when  we  know  what  to 
do  at  once." 

"What  are  the  objections  that  have  arisen  in  your 
mind?"  asked  the  lawyer,  addressing  Trescotte. 


DOROTHY S  fROfOSAL.  241 

"Well,  the  first  is  that,  owing  to  the  peculiar  rela 
tion  I  bear  to  the  boy,  it  might  be  charged  that  I 
had  forced  Mrs.  Trescotte  to  an  acquiescence." 

"Doubtless,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"Pure  selfishness,"  said  Mrs.  Trevor- Allen.  "Your 
pride  rebels  at  the  thought." 

Trescotte  laughed. 

"It  is  true,"  he  said,  "but  I  will  dismiss  my  pride.'* 

"Objection  number  one  disposed  of!"  cried  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen. 

"But  what  will  its  effect  be  on  Mrs.  Trescotte?" 

"Objection  number  two,"  said  the  widow. 

"Won't  such  an  act  raise  up  a  great  deal  of  talk 
and  set  tongues  wagging  again?" 

"They  must  wag,  then,"  said  Dorothy.  "They 
have  wagged  industriously  for  a  year,  and  still  we 
live  and  are  happy." 

"A  nine  day's  wonder.  The  christening  of  the 
baby  you  have  at  home  will  cause  as  much,"  re- 
marked  the  widow. 

"I  am  inclined  to  believe,"  said  the  lawyer,  "that 
while  gossip  and  speculation  will  follow  the  act,  that 
the  utmost  malice  can  do  will  be  to  insinuate  that 
Mrs.  Trescotte  had  been  forced  to  comply.  But 
since  it  is  not  so,  it  need  not  be  counted  here.  In 
deed,  I'm  also  inclined  to  think  that  the  great 
majority  will  approve  and  sympathize  with  the  act, 
as  one  virtuous  and  noble,  and  for  which  Mrs.  Tres 
cotte  should  be  applauded." 

"Oh,  don't  discuss  me  so  much,"  cried  Dorothy, 
abashed.  "Talk  about  the  business  we  came  on." 


248  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

"They  will  talk — the  world,  I  mean — anyway," 
put  in  the  little  widow  very  decidedly.  "If  you 
don't  take  the  child,  people  will  talk;  and  if  you  do, 
they  will.  Why,  if  I  had  taken  the  child  and  adopted 
it,  as  I  proposed,  they  would  have  whispered  that  it 
was  my  own;  that  I  had  had  it  conveniently  hidden 
until  I  could  become  a  widow." 

"Why,  Lou !"  cried  the  horrified  Dorothy. 

"They  would.  Oh,  I  know  this  charming  world 
of  ours.  Well,  objection  number  two  is  disposed 
of.  Now  for  objection  number  three." 

Trescotte's  face  suddenly  sobered.  He  began 
impressively : 

"Do  not  let  anyone  here  misapprehend  my  words 
in  this  statement.  But  I  am  sure  no  one  here  will 
charge  me  with  failing  to  give  to  my  wife  the  deep 
est  love  and  the  highest  admiration  for  her  sterling 
character  and  true  nature.  When  I  say  it  now,  I 
say  it  before  friends,  who,  when  the  clouds  over  us 
vere  the  darkest,  and  when  there  was  danger  and 

Broach  in  association  with  us,  held  out  to  us  the 
.:and  of  warm  friendship,  and  I  know  that  they  will 
iccept  my  words  as  being  as  sincere  as  they  are 
in  fact." 

Mr.  Magrane  and  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  bowed  in 
response,  not  caring  to  trust  to  voice,  for  they  were 
both  affected  by  the  deep  feeling  vibrating  in  Tres 
cotte's  tones. 

Dorothy,  with  heightened  color  and  dimmed  eyes, 
asked  gently:  "Harry,  is  it  necessary  to  say  this?" 

"I  think  it  is,  in  my  own  right,"  replied  Trescotte 


DOROTHY'S  PROPOSAL.  249 

gravely,  and  turning  to  the  others:  "The  question 
with  me  must  always  be  the  happiness  of  Mrs.  Tres- 
cotte.  She  has  sacrificed  much  to  continue  in  com 
panionship  with  me,  and  to  secure  her  happiness  is 
only  that  gratitude  which  I  should  show  her.  The 
human  heart  is  a  mystery.  The  will  does  not  always 
control  it.  On  the  contrary  often  the  will  is  sub 
ordinate.  The  human  heart  has  laws  of  its  own,  and 
those  laws,  while  often  working  in  harmony  with, 
are  not  builded  in,  the  logic  of  the  mind.  Now  with 
this  preface  I  must  ask,  Will  Mrs.  Trescotte  be 
happy  in  the  realization  of  this  proposition?  I  have 
answered  the  question  of  my  duty  to  the  boy,  by 
putting  first,  and  before  it,  my  duty  to  Mrs.  Tres 
cotte.  Now,  may  not  the  presence  of  the  child, 
daily  and  hourly,  be  a  vastly  different  thing  in  the 
realization,  than  when  in  anticipation  it  is  viewed 
through  the  medium  of  exalted  imagination  and 
high  purpose?  To  have  that  child  enter  our  house 
and  destroy  our  domestic  peace,  as  it  already  has 
that  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams,  would  be  to  work 
great  harm,  without  accomplishing  good  to  any 
body." 

He  waited  for  an  answer.  There  was  silence. 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  looked  anxiously  at  Dorothy  and 
she  was  sitting  with  head  bent.  At  length  the 
lawyer  said :  "But  one  person  can  answer  your 
question." 

"And  I  am  that  person,"  said  Dorothy,  lifting  her 
head  and  looking  at  Trescotte  very  steadily,  though 
her  voice  was  low  and  somewhat  shaken. 


25°  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

is  reproach  in  what  my  husband  has  said.  He  does 
not  mean  it,  nor  is  it  in  his  words.  It  is  in  what 
I  have  cast  out,  by  the  help  of  this  dear  friend," — 
she  put  out  her  hand  and  took  that  of  Mrs.  Trevor- 
Allen, — "who  has  shown  me  what  a  good  woman 
can  do  under  circumstances  so  heartrending  as  to 
make  by  comparison  my  troubles  pitifully  small. 
I  can  answer  out  of  a  heart  and  mind  that  have 
struggled  and  won :  Nothing  will  give  me  more  joy 
than  to  see,  standing  at  my  husband's  knee,  his  son, 
when  my  babe  is  in  his  arms." 

"Objection  number  three  is  disposed  of!"  cried 
the  widow  with  a  little  gasp,  and  looking  very 
straight  away  from  Mr.  Magrane,  who  had  bent 
earnest  eyes  upon  her  when  Dorothy  made  that 
veiled  reference  to  her  troubles. 

"Yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  "Mrs.  Trescotte  has 
answered.  Judging  from  a  disinterested  stand 
point,  and  a  worldly  one,  I  should  say  the  case  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams  is  not  analogous.  What  other 
objections  have  you?" 

"Now,  purely  legal,"  said  Trescotte.  "Can  I  in 
law  be  prevented  from  joining  Mrs.  Trescotte  in 
adopting  the  lad?" 

"No.  A  man  may  adopt  his  own  children,  if  he 
desires." 

"Objection  number  four  disposed  of !"  laughed  the 
widow. 

"Finally,"  said  Trescotte,  "and  I  think  this  is 
difficult:  What  effect  upon  us  and  our  position  will 
the  adoption  have?  Under  your  advice  we  have 


DOROTHY'S  PROPOSAL.  251 

assumed  that  a  marriage — a  common  law  marriage — 
did  exist  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams.  Would 
that  assumption  be  changed  or  complicated?" 

"I  see  your  point,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  can 
answer  now.  I  would  go  about  this  adoption,  if 
that  be  your  determination,  precisely  as  you  are 
doing  now — assuming  the  validity  of  that  marriage. 
I  think  it  would  strengthen  the  position  you  have 
already  taken." 

"Objection  number  five  disposed  of,  and  the 
whole  subject  disposed  of!"  cried  the  widow  as  she 
sprang  from  her  seat.  "You  see  you  have  reasoned, 
you  men,  and  finally  have  gotten  to  where  we  two 
women  were  in  the  beginning.  Unless,  Mr.  Tres- 
cotte,  you  have  more  foolish  objections  to  raise." 

This  Trescotte  laughingly  disclaimed,  and  the 
conversation  took  the  direction  as  to  the  best  means 
to  be  employed  in  accomplishing  Dorothy's  desires. 
The  end  was  that  Mr.  Magrane  was  authorized  to 
open,  in  his  own  time  and  discretion,  negotiations 
with  Mrs.  Adams. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  BLOW  FOR  FREEDOM. 

SEVERAL  days  passed  before  Trescotte,  in  his 
character  as  the  representative  of  Hilda,  received  a 
message  from  the  elder  Waldemar.  Then  it  was  to 
the  effect  that  having  had  an  interview  with  his  son, 
Mr.  Waldemar  had  received  pledges  of  reform,  and 
the  old  gentleman  urged  that,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Walde 
mar  the  younger  would  be  content,  and  resume 
relations.  Trescotte  had  replied  that  while  he 
believed  that  Mrs.  Waldemar  would  not  agree  to  a 
composition  of  the  trouble,  except  on  the  terms  she 
had  commisioned  him  to  present,  nevertheless,  he 
would  lay  the  proposition  before  her.  Hilda  was 
obdurate.  A  day  or  two  more  passed,  and  Mr. 
Waldemar,  the  elder,  desired  a  personal  interview 
with  Hilda.  The  request  was  granted,  though 
reluctantly,  and  only  upon  the  condition  that  Tres 
cotte  should  be  present.  Though  the  elder  Walde 
mar  pleaded  the  cause  of  his  son  well,  Hilda  refused 
to  consider,  or  to  moderate  her  demand,  insisting 
that  she  had  indubitable  proof  that  Hermann,  not 
withstanding  his  father's  assertions,  had  not  re 
formed.  Forced  to  retire,  Mr.  Waldemar  apparently 
yielded  to  Hilda's  demands-  But  days  elapsed  and 


A   BLOW  FOJ?  FREEDOM.  253 

nothing  definite  was  done.  Under  one  pretext  or 
another,  delay  was  made  by  the  Waldemars,  father 
and  son,  until  Trescotte  was  satisfied,  though  he  did 
not  say  so  to  Hilda,  that  they  were  engaged  in  some 
intrigue.  They  were,  but  not  of  so  deep  a  charac 
ter  as  Trescotte  feared.  The  old  banker  believed 
that  Hilda  could  be  tired  out  with  the  delay,  and 
would  finally  do  something  which  could  be  tortured 
into  condonation  of  Hermann's  offenses. 

Three  weeks  passed  in  this  game  of  delay,  and 
then  a  young  man,  a  clerk  of  a  well-known  banking 
house  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  called  at  the 
Waldemar  house,  asking  to  see  Mrs.  Waldemar,  and 
refusing  to  communicate  his  business  to  anyone  but 
her.  When  Hilda  came  to  him  he  placed  a  packet 
in  her  hand  and  went  away.  Had  the  banking 
people  whom  this  young  clerk  represented  known 
the  ends  they  were  made  to  serve,  they  probably 
would  have  been  outraged ;  but  they  didn't.  They 
had  been  requested  by  their  London  correspondent 
to  see  that  the  packet  reached  the  lady's  hands  and 
hers  alone.  The  packet  was  a  letter  from  Lord 
Buttontrave. 

That  letter  was  fateful. 

Gently  upbraiding  her  for  having  failed  him,  yet 
excusing  her  upon  some  suppositional  discovery  of 
their  plans,  he  renewed  the  assurances  of  his  love, 
declared  life  without  her  companionship  held  out  no 
inducements  for  him,  and  generally  expressed  him 
self  as  strong  men  do  when  they  are  desperately  in 
love,  that  is  to  say,  foolishly  and  insanely. 


254  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE   LEFT  HlMt 

The  young  matron  read  the  letter  a  dozen  times, 
glorying  in  it.  Then  she  did  what  few  women  have 
the  fortitude  to  do  with  a  love  letter.  When  its 
words  were  burned  into  her  memory  she  thre\v  it 
into  the  fire  and  watched  it  turn  into  ashes.  She 
thought  a  long  time  by  the  fire.  At  length,  arising 
with  the  air  of  one  who  had  reached  conclusions  and 
formed  a  plan,  she  sat  herself  at  her  writing  table 
and  wrote  a  reply.  She  told  him  the  truth  of  her 
failure  to  meet  him  ;  she  expressed  the  assurances  of 
her  undying  love  in  terms  not  less  ardent  than  his 
own;  she  told  him  that  she  should  put  his  affection 
to  the  test ;  that  she  was  engaged  upon  a  plan,  the 
successful  issue  of  which  would  leave  her  free  to 
gratify  his  love  and  her  own ;  she  demanded  that  he 
should  not  write  her  for  two  months,  but  pledged 
herself  to  write  by  every  mail ;  if,  at  the  expiration 
of  that  time  his  love  for  her  held,  he  was  to  come  to 
her  in  New  York;  she  charged  him  to  destroy  her 
letters  as  received,  telling  him  that  any  accidental 
discovery  of  them  might  defeat  her  plan. 

Sealing  her  letter,  she  dressed,  called  her  carriage, 
and  driving  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Magrane,  she  asked 
him  to  begin  proceedings  for  a  divorce  from  her  hus 
band.  To  say  that  the  lawyer  was  astonished  would 
probably  be  to  say  too  much,  for  lawyers  in  their 
experiences  are  not  easily  astonished,  but  he  cer» 
tainly  did  marvel  that  the  most  brilliant  match  of  the 
last  season  should  have  ended  so  sadly  and  so 
quickly.  The  proofs  she  submitted  shocked  his 
manhood  and  he  accepted  the  retainer. 


A   BLOW  FOR  FREEDOM.  855 

Hilda  went  home,  and  gathering  her  personal 
effects,  went  to  Dorothy,  asking  a  second  time  to  be 
taken  in.  This  time  she  did  not  leave  a  letter  for 
Hermann. 

The  Trescottes  were  embarrassed.  Their  own 
delicate  position  made  them  feel  that  Hilda,  for  her 
own  sake  as  well  as  theirs,  should  have  gone  any 
where  but  to  them;  that  in  the  publicity  of  the 
divorce  suit  their  own  marital  affairs  would  be 
dragged  out  into  the  sunlight ;  that  they  would  be 
charged  with  having  aided  and  abetted,  even  influ 
enced,  Hilda  to  the  course  she  was  pursuing.  They 
were  quite  certain  that  Mrs.  Courtenay,  when  she 
came  to  know  of  the  divorce  suit,  would  visit  her 
anger  and  disappointment  on  them.  Yet  it  never 
occurred  to  them  to  deny  Hilda  shelter,  nor  did 
they  let  her  know  their  embarrassment. 

They  were  quite  right,  as  it  turned  out,  in  their 
belief  that  Mrs.  Courtenay  would  be  angry  with 
them.  But  Hilda  averted  the  threatened  storm  as 
soon  as  its  mutterings  were  heard,  and  in  doing  so 
showed  a  strength  and  a  decision  that  demonstrated 
how  great  was  the  revolution  that  had  been  worked 
in  her  in  the  few  months  of  her  wedded  life. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  when  Mrs.  Courtenay,  first 
learning  of  Hilda's  suit  as  she  did  from  the  elder 
Waldemar,  sought  her  to  have  the  proceedings  with 
drawn  forthwith,  and  had  begun  angry  objurgations 
of  Trescotte  and  Dorothy,  who  were  both  present ; 
"mother,  the  less  you  have  to  say  of  this  the  better. 
When  you  blame  Henry  and  Dorothy  for  anything 


256  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

I  have  done,  you  are  wholly  wrong.  I  left  Walde. 
mar  nearly  a  month  ago;  it  was  due  to  their  persua 
sions  and  influence  that  I  returned  to  his  house. 
That  I  had  left  him  a  second  time  and  begun  a 
divorce  suit,  they  only  knew  when  I  came  to  them 
for  shelter." 

"But  why,  child,  did  you  not  come  to  me,  your 
mother,  for  advice?"  asked  the  distressed  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  thinking  that  if  Hilda  had,  how  easily 
she  could  have  prevented  the  dreadful  suit. 

Hilda's  reply  was  crushing,  and  oh,  the  bitterness, 
the  cruelty  of  it! 

"Because  I  do  not  trust  you.  Having  forced  me, 
young,  ignorant,  and  innocent  into  this  disgraceful 
marriage  to  suit  your  own  ends,  your  opinion  could 
have  had  no  weight  with  me.  I  did  not  go  to  you, 
because  you  have  failed  as  a  mother  to  me;  because 
you  have  used  me  merely  as  an  implement  in  the 
game  you  were  playing;  because  I  was  merely  a 
stone  on  which  to  build  increased  social  power;  be 
cause  your  ambition  prevents  you  from  judging 
between  morality  and  immorality;  because  you 
would  have  sacrificed  me,  my  heart,  my  soul,  my 
life,  to  have  saved  your  own  pride;  I  went  where 
someone  could  judge  between  right  and  wrong. 
You  cannot.  I  came  to  Henry  and  Dorothy.  They 
are  leading  holy  lives.  Your  influence  over  me  is 
gone.  You  have  done  me  a  wrong;  I  cannot  and 
will  not  forgive  you.  If  this  is  unchristianlike, 
recollect  I  am  what  you  have  made  me.  If  my  life 
is  ruined,  then  you  are  the  cause  of  the  ruin.  You 


A   BLOW  FOR  FREEDOM.  257 

may  weep,  but  your  tears  are  not  of  contrition — 
they  are  of  disappointed  pride." 

Hilda,  concluding  her  diatribe,  left  the  room.  So 
intense  and  virulent  had  she  been  that  Dorothy 
fairly  shuddered,  while  Trescotte  was  filled  with  pity 
for  the  woman  so  humiliated ;  and  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
after  seeking  sympathy  from  those  she  had  come 
to  denounce,  went  away  murmuring  something 
about  a  thankless  child  and  a  serpent's  tooth. 

Hilda's  suit  was  well  on  its  way  toward  the  day 
appointed  for  the  taking  of  testimony  before  Adams 
arrived.  He  had  come  with  a  well-defined  plan 
which  should  place  him  in  a  position  of  less  em 
barrassment  than  he  was  then  laboring  under.  But 
on  learning  of  the  proposition  of  the  Trescottes  to 
adopt  the  boy,  he  was  willing  to  defer  action  until 
the  outcome  of  the  movement  could  be  ascertained. 
Indeed,  he  expressed  not  only  a  willingness,  but  an 
ardent  desire  to  be  reconciled  to  Mrs.  Adams  if  suc 
cess  followed  the  effort,  and  thereby  the  stumbling, 
block  was  removed. 

Mr.  Magrane  seized  the  few  days  intervening 
before  the  taking  of  testimony  in  Hilda's  divorce 
suit,  and  journeyed  to  Buffalo.  As  he  expected, 
Elsie  received  the  proposition  with  alarm  and  dis 
tress.  Yet  he  set  forth  all  the  arguments,  dwelling 
upon  the  doubtful  position  of  the  lad  were  the  pres 
ent  conditions  to  continue,  or  Adams  to  obtain  the 
divorce  or  declaration  of  non-marriage  he  was  then 
preparing  to  seek.  Too  shrewd  to  offer  the  hope  of 


258  SHOULD   SHE  HA  VE  LEFT  HIM t 

reconciliation  as  a  barter,  nevertheless  he  deftly 
insinuated  the  idea,  and  left  the  mother  to  become 
accustomed  to  the  thought. 

The  next  day  he  again  sought  her,  and  again 
went  over  the  field  of  argument,  and  this  time  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  that  she  contemplated 
the  possibility  of  the  IF,  for  she  asked  questions, 
and  raised  objections  to  be  answered,  not  as  if  they 
were  conclusive,  as  she  had  done  the  previous  day. 
Finally  Mr.  Magrane  said : 

"Mrs.  Adams,  you  ought  not  to  decide  this  ques 
tion,  either  way,  without  the  advice  of  someone  who 
will  look  at  it  disinterestedly,  yet  from  your  stand 
point,  and  whom  you  can  trust.  Do  you  not  know 
some  honorable  lawyer  to  whom  you  can  go?" 

Mrs.  Adams  caught  at  the  idea,  and  mentioned  a 
member  of  the  bar  of  that  city,  whose  name  Mr. 
Magrane  recognized  as  of  high  repute,  and  who  has 
since  risen  to  great  distinction.  Arranging  to  meet 
Mrs.  Adams  at  that  lawyer's  office  the  following  day, 
he  left  her. 

When  they  met  the  next  afternoon,  Magrane  saw 
that  Elsie  still  held  the  matter  in  abeyance.  To 
Mr.  Dayton,  for  such  was  the  lawyer's  name  Elsie 
had  selected  to  advise  her,  he  said : 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  state  the  case  from 
the  beginning,  and  end  with  the  proposition  to  sub 
mit  which  to  Mrs.  Adams  is  the  reason  of  my  visit 
to  Buffalo.  If  I  go  astray  in  any  particular,  Mrs. 
Adams  will  correct  me.  I  shall  make  no  argument, 
nor  give  color  to  my  story.  The  parties  I  represent 


A  BLOW  FOR  FREEDOM.  259 

would  not  justify  me  in  seeking  to  exert  an  undue 
influence  upon  this  lady.  If  she  accepts  their  pro 
posal,  they  desire  she  should  do  so  fully  believing 
it  to  be  the  best  thing  she  could  do,  and  that  all 
interests  were  thus  best  served.  They  do  not  wish 
to  conceal  the  fact  that  in  an  acceptance  of  the  pro 
posal  is  the  solution  of  many  matters  which  perplex 
them  and  Mrs.  Adams  as  well.  With  this  exordium 
I  address  myself  to  the  statement,  asking  your 
patience,  for  it  is  intricate  and  complicated." 

Mr.  Dayton  thought  there  was  little  need  of  ask- 
ing  his  patience.  Never  in  his  experience  had  he 
listened  to  a  story  more  dramatic,  involving  more 
novel  situations,  and  he  was  charmed  by  Mr. 
Magrane's  methods  of  statement,  which  left  no  point 
untouched  in  its  proper  place  or  bearing.  When 
Mr.  Magrane  had  concluded,  Mr.  Dayton  said: 

"I  also  am  inclined  to  take  the  view  that  a  com- 
mon  law  marriage  exists.  The  idea  of  settlement 
in  another  direction  has  entered  my  mind,  but  it  is 
yet  too  crude  to  formulate.  I  know  this  ex-magis 
trate.  He  is  about  the  city,  a  disreputable  sort  of 
a  fellow." 

Mr.  Dayton  drummed  his  fingers  upon  his  table 
for  a  moment  or  two,  looking  through  the  windows 
to  the  wintry  sky.  Mr.  Magrane  waited  for  him. 
"If  this  idea,"  he  continued,  "were  to  take  form,  and 
from  it  should  come  a  solution  of  the  difficulties 
simpler  than  you  now  propose,  and  a  sum  of  money 
were  required  to  effect  it,  I  presume  such  would  be 
forthcoming." 


«6o  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HTM? 

"Any  reasonable  sum,"  promptly  replied  Mr 
Magrane. 

"Very  well;  you  shall  hear  from  me.  In  the 
meantime  I  will  advise  with  Mrs.  Adams." 

Mr.  Magrane  returned  to  New  York  to  plunge 
into  Hilda's  affairs 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  DECREE  OF  FREEDOM. 

PUBLICITY,  so  much  dreaded  by  all  involved 
directly  or  indirectly,  did  not  accompany  the  trial  of 
the  Waldemar  divorce  suit.  The  court  designated 
a  lawyer  as  referee  to  take  the  testimony,  which  was 
done  behind  closed  doors.  Under  Mr.  Magrane's 
skillful  management  there  was  no  public  mention 
of  the  reference,  and  society  was  deprived  of  a 
choice  morsel. 

The  Waldemars  were  disconcerted  by  Hilda's 
vigorous  movement.  At  the  time  they  thought 
they  were  adroitly  playing  the  game  of  delay  she 
had  forced  them  to  a  defense.  And  that  defense, 
the  elder  Waldemar  knew,  was  weak  and  made 
weaker  by  the  fact  that  the  younger  Waldemar,  at 
the  very  time  he  was  making  pledges  of  reform,  had 
foolishly  complicated  himself.  These  facts  led  the 
Waldemars  to  join  in  the  effort  for  secrecy  in  the 
proceedings. 

The  proofs  of  Hermann's  turpitude  were  incon 
trovertible,  and  there  was  practically  no  defense. 
Consequently  the  taking  of  testimony  occupied  but 
one  day  and  the  report  of  the  referee,  promptly 


*6«  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

made,  was  promptly  confirmed  by  the  court. 
Society,  though  it  knew  that  Hilda  had  left  her  hus 
band  and  was  domiciled  with  the  Trescotte's,  was 
only  made  aware  of  divorce  proceedings  when  the 
decree  was  entered  and  Hilda  was  freed  from  her 
bonds.  As  it  knew  nothing  of  the  Buttontrave  epi 
sode,  and  had  heard  of  La  Hoyle,  it  became  the 
fashion  to  sympathize  with  Hilda  and  denounce 
Waldemar. 

During  all  this  time  Hilda,  as  she  had  promised, 
had  written  to  Buttontrave  by  every  mail.  She  had 
told  him  in  the  series  of  letters  what  she  had  under- 
taken,  and  what  success  the  effort  was  making;  she 
had  frankly  told  him  that  when  put  to  the  test  of 
sacrificing  her  own  self-respect,  in  flying  with  him, 
she  had  recoiled,  for  she  had  realized  that  she  had 
been  driven  to  the  thought  of  so  reckless  an  act  as 
much  by  the  misery  of  her  life  as  by  reason  of  her 
love  for  him;  she  pledged  him  her  undying  affec 
tion,  and  assured  him  that  it  grew  as  the  days  of 
their  separation  grew;  then  she  became  practical 
and  formative,  for  she  told  him  that  his  own  love 
was  going  to  the  test ;  that  if  he,  as  he  vowed,  held 
it  steadfast  and  true,  he  would,  when  she  was  free, 
seek  her  in  honorable  marriage;  but  if, as  he  applied 
this  test,  he  found  that  his  love  was  not  strong 
enough  for  that  course,  it  were  better  to  forget  her 
and  his  unworthy  passion  for  her,  and  devote  him 
self  to  the  career  which  to  win  distinction  in  was  his 
ambition. 

Of  course  I  am  aware  that  this  is  quite  the  reverse 


THE  DECREE   OF  FREEDOM.  263 

of  romantic — that  it  smacks  altogether  of  too  much 
common  sense  and  practicality.  If  I  were  writing 
romance,  I  should  have  Buttontrave  in  a  carriage 
outside  the  door  of  the  courthouse,  the  steam  up 
in  his  yacht  in  the  harbor,  and  as  the  decree  was 
announced,  while  the  Waldemars  were  wailing  and 
gnashing  their  teeth,  the  nobleman  should  whisk 
Hilda  off  to  some  land  of  flowers,  where  the  sun 
always  shines,  and  the  soft,  languorous  winds  always 
blow  over  the  blue  Mediterranean  Sea,  where  in  love 
and  luxury  they  should  live  until  Hilda's  retributive 
conscience  pricking  her,  she  should  return  to  the 
bosom  of  her  weeping  family  to  die  of  consumption 
and  a  wailing  orchestra ;  but  I  am  writing  sober  his 
tory  and  must  adhere  to  the  facts. 

So  also  must  I  record  that  instead  of  foolishly 
rushing  to  this  country  and  interfering  with  the  suc 
cessful  progress  of  her  suit,  Buttontrave  replied  to 
these  letters  despite  Hilda's  injunctions  to  the  con 
trary,,  And  in  these  letters  his  protestations  of  love 
were  as  ardent,  and  his  expressions  of  hope  of  her 
success  as  fervid,  as  Hilda  could  desire.  He  assured 
her  that  when  she  sent  for  him  he  would  come 
speedily,  to  weld  her  in  a  new  bond  of  wedlock. 

As  soon  as  she  was  informed  of  the  decree  of  the 
court,  which  was  immediately,  Hilda  drove  to  the 
office  of  the  cable  and  sent  this  message: 

"Free.     Come." 

A  few  hours  after  she  received  his  reply : 

"On  wings." 

Which  was  quite  pretty  but  nonsensical,  for  even 


264  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

poetic  license  cannot  convert  a  dirty  smokestack 
and  a  thumping  screw  into  the  wings  of  a  bird. 

And  of  all  this  no  one  had  knowledge  in  this 
country  save  Hilda. 

But  Buttontrave  did  not  come  on  wings  nor  any 
thing  else.  On  the  day  he  should  have  sailed  the 
aged  Duke  of  Somersfield,  his  father,  after  a  brief 
illness  not  considered  dangerous,  died,  and  the  suc 
cession  to  the  estates  and  the  titles  delayed  him,  as 
he  instantly  cabled  to  Hilda.  But  he  begged  her  to 
go  to  London,  where,  he  urged,  they  might  be 
quietly  married  and  take  up  that  life  of  joy  and 
happiness  they  had  promised  themselves.  Hilda, 
her  expectations  a  little  dashed,  sat  down  to  think 
earnestly  over  this  proposition. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  SIMPLE   SOLUTION. 

APPARENTLY  the  enterprise  of  the  adoption  of 
the  boy  languished.  Days  wasted  and  weeks  grew 
into  months,  and  though  Mr.  Dayton's  communica 
tions  held  out  hopes,  they  meant  delay.  When  hope 
was  about  gone,  there  came  one  day  a  letter  from 
Buffalo  informing  them  that  Mrs.  Adams  had  finally 
yielded,  and  consented  to  give  up  her  boy  to  the 
care  and  adoption  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte.  And 
Mr.  Dayton  suggested  that  Trescotte  and  Dorothy 
should  be  in  Buffalo  on  a  certain  specified  day  to 
receive  the  child.  And  further,  that  if  Mr.  Adams 
could  be  induced  to  be  in  that  city,  on  that  day,  good 
ends  would  be  served.  The  letter  was  particularly 
urgent  that  Mr.  Magrane  should  on  no  account  fail 
to  be  present,  as  the  "short  cut"  had  been  found  to 
be  practicable.  What  that  "short  cut"  was,  puzzled 
Mr.  Magrane.  Being  endowed  with  that  great 
quality,  patience,  however,  he  dismissed  the  riddle 
until  he  could  see  Mr.  Dayton. 

Though  Mr.  Adams  demurred  somewhat  at  what 
he  called  "traveling  in  the  dark,"  yet  he  agreed  to 
go  with  the  party;  and  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,  insisting 
that  having  ridden  in  the  front  from  the  beginning 


266  SHOULD   SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

of  the  chase,  she  would  not  permit  herself  to  be 
unhorsed  at  the  end,  declared  that  she  would  be  in 
at  the  death,  so  she  also  accompanied  them.  The 
terms  of  this  declaration  proved  to  me  that  the 
lively  widow  had  followed  the  anise  seed  bag  on 
Long  Island. 

At  the  time  specified,  Dorothy  and  Trescotte, 
Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  and  Mr.  Magrane  assembled  at 
the  office  of  Mr.  Dayton — rather,  one  should  say, 
series  of  offices,  for  there  were  many  rooms,  the 
doors  between  which,  on  this  occasion  at  least,  were 
closed.  The  party  was  led  into  an  inner  room, 
where  it  was  greeted  by  Mr.  Dayton  warmly  and 
with  smiles.  Great  satisfaction  was  pictured  on  his 
broad  face.  After  seating  his  visitors  he  went  to 
his  desk,  and  taking  from  it  a  paper  called  Mr. 
Magrane  aside. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Adams?"  he  asked. 

"At  the  hotel,  awaiting  summons." 

"That  is  very  good,"  said  Mr.  Dayton.  "We  will 
need  him.  Indeed  I  think  I  will  send  for  him  now." 

He  excused  himself  while  he  gave  the  necessary 
instructions  and  returned  to  Mr.  Magrane,  handing 
him  the  paper  he  had  held  in  his  hand.  It  was  a 
certified  copy  of  a  law  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
recently  passed. 

"What  is  this?"  asked  Mr.  Magrane. 

"The  short  cut." 

"I  do  not  understand  it,"  said  Mr.  Magrane, 
puzzled. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Dayton,  his  face  positively  beam- 


A   SIMPLE  SOLUTION.  3&7 

ing,  "when  you  made  the  statement  to  me  of  this 
most  extraordinary  case,  the  idea  occurred  to  me 
that  there  was  a  short  cut  to  the  settlement  of 
Mr,  and  Mrs.  Trescotte's  marital  troubles,  doing 
away  with  the  necessity  of  resorting  to  the  assump 
tion  of  a  common  law  marriagCc  After  thinking  it 
over,  I  sent  for  this  ex-magistrate,  Ebert,  and  ques 
tioned  him.,  The  facts  were  as  you  had  stated 
them.  He  was  bitter  against  Adams.  He  thought 
Adams  wanted  freedom,  and  that  having  informed 
Adams  that  he  never  had  been  married  he  should 
have  received  payment  for  his  information,  which 
he  never  had.  Working  upon  this  feeling,  I  drew  a 
bill,  confirming  and  legalizing  all  of  Ebert 's  acts  as 
a  magistrate  for  the  seven  days  after  his  removal, 
and  sent  Ebert  to  Albany  to  secure  its  passage. 
His  acts  were  few,  but  among  them  was  the  mar- 
riage  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams.  The  bill  has,  after 
the  usual  delay,  become  a  law.  You  hold  in  your 
hand  a  duly  certified  copy  of  it.  The  marriage  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte  is  therefore  as  valid  as  the 
rites  of  the  church  and  an  act  of  the  legislature  can 
make  it,  and  no  doubt  rests  upon  the  Adams  mar 
riage.  I  have  paid  Ebert  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  for  his  consent  to  this  act  and  his  services  in 
its  passage." 

"And  shall  be  reimbursed  before  I  leave  your 
office,"  cried  the  delighted  Magrane,  marveling  at 
the  simplicity  of  the  solution  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tres- 
Cotte's  difficulties. 

Joyfully  he  took  the  law  to  his  clients  and  ex- 


268  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

plained  its  effect,  slyly  remarking  that  organized 
society  could  correct  its  own  defects,  if  one  could 
learn  its  clumsy  machinery.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  Dorothy  could  grasp  the  significance  of  the 
law,  but  when  she  did  she  looked  with  such  grateful 
eyes  upon  Mr.  Dayton  that  the  bluff  old  lawyer  was 
much  disturbed. 

"Oh,  dear!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  in  a 
bored  tone,  "what  uninteresting  people  you  have 
suddenly  become — merely  commonplace  married 
people." 

Mr.  Dayton  cast  an  indignant  glance  at  the  widow, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  Mr.  Magrane,  who  had 
come  to  know  the  ingenious  expedients  to  which 
she  resorted  to  conceal  her  own  emotions. 

"You  perceive,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen,"  he  said  ;  "that 
the  reason  of  the  animal  man  does  some  time  serve 
a  purpose." 

"Not  reason,"  she  replied  pertly,  "a  little  superior 
knowledge  denied  the  woman  by  the  tyrant  man." 

But  this  was  not  the  business  that  had  brought, 
them  there,  so  Mr.  Dayton  brought  them  back  to 
their  mutton. 

"Mrs.  Adams  and  the  child  are  in  the  adjoining 
room,"  he  said.  "She  has  consented.  It  is  really 
the  best  thing  under  all  the  circumstances  she  could 
do.  She  did  not  yield  easily,  but  she  is  firm  now. 
I  could  have  told  you  earlier  than  I  did,  but  I 
wanted  to  pass  this  law  first,  and  I  thought  it  well 
that  the  little  woman  should  first  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  thought  of  separation  before  it  actually 


A   SIMPLE  SOLUTION.  269 

occurred.  Come,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trescotte,  let  me 
take  you  to  her.  It  would  be  better,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  others,  "to  let  them  go  in  alone." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  as  it  swung  back  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  picture  that 
lived  in  her  memory  many  days — the  picture  of  a 
slight,  graceful  figure,  a  sad  face  sweetened  with 
yearning,  hopeless  love,  a  child  strained  to  the  heart 
of  that  figure,  a  child  face  looking  up  wonderingly 
into  those  yearning  eyes  bent  over  it.  A  fleeting 
glimpse,  lasting  but  an  instant,  but  oh,  how  vivid. 
Often  afterward,  in  the  solemn  watches  of  the  night, 
that  picture  arose,  filling  her  heart  with  pity  and 
her  eyes  with  tears. 

Mr.  Dayton  remained  but  a  moment.  When  he 
came  from  the  room  his  face  was  strangely  drawn, 
and  he  was  so  busy  with  the  papers  at  his  desk  that 
he  could  not  address  those  in  his  room,  and  when 
a  clerk  came  to  tell  him  Mr.  Adams  had  come,  he 
went  out  to  meet  him.  By  and  by  he  came  back, 
followed  by  Mr.  Adams.  Mr.  Magrane  addressed  a 
remark  to  the  newcomer,  but  Mr.  Adams  did  not 
seem  to  know  what  had  been  said,  and  replied  at 
random,  much  preoccupied. 

Mr.  Dayton  went  into  the  room  where  Mrs. 
Adams  was,  and  then  Trescotte  and  Dorothy  came 
out.  The  boy  was  in  Trescotte's  arms,  looking  with 
wondering  doubt  into  the  face  so  near  his  own. 
Tears  she  did  not  seek  to  conceal  were  in  Dorothy's 
eyes,  and  a  pitying  smile  on  her  face.  She  rested  a 
hand  on  Trescotte's  arm  as  she  listened  to  the  tale 


27°  SHOULD   SHE   HAVE  LEFT  HIM? 

of  the  wonderful  things  Trescotte  was  to  show  the 
little  lad,  and  the  most  wonderful  pony  that  ever 
was,  to  be  all  his  own,  whose  silver  tail  and  harness 
and  cart  won  an  eager  light  to  the  dark  eyes  of  the 
lad,  and  wooed  a  smile  to  his  lip. 

Dayton  came  again,  very  busy  and  very  mysteri 
ous,  and  beckoned  to  Adams.  The  door  closed 
upon  them,  and  there  was  a  moment  or  two  of 
silence.  Then  a  soft,  glad  cry  stole  through  the 
door,  and  all  was  silence  again.  The  lad  prattled 
about  the  silver  tail  and  the  long  whip,  eager  to  go. 

"Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  to  Mr.  Magrane, 
"is  there  anything  in  this  world  more  pathetically 
cruel  than  the  eagerness  of  a  child  to  run  from 
the  clinging  love  of  its  mother  to  the  promised 
rainbow." 

Mr.  Dayton  appeared  for  the  fourth  or  fifth  time, 
his  face  working  nervously,  and  there  was  so  much 
of  it  to  work,  again  busy  with  the  papers  on  his 
desk.  Then  he  came  to  the  group. 

"There  is  a  little  woman  in  there,"  pointing  to 
the  door  that  hid  her,  as  he  found  his  handkerchief 
and  blew  a  sonorous  blast,  "  who  has  experienced  in 
a  single  hour  the  deepest  sorrow  a  mother  can  know, 
the  loss  of  her  child,  and  the  highest  joy  a  wife  may 
know,  the  proof  of  the  deep  love  of  the  man  who 
has  won  hers.  Go  now,  good  people.  Do  not 
wring  her  heart  with  fresh  sorrow  by  letting  her  see 
you  carry  her  child  away." 

As  they  prepared  to  go,  Mrs.  Trevor-Allen  said 
to  Mr.  Magrane: 


A   SIMPLE   SOLUTION.  «7* 

"I  shall  marry  again." 

"Whom?" 

"Mr.  Dayton." 

"Then  I'll  remain  to  murder  him." 

But  Magrane  didn't,  only  to  complete  a  few 
details  and  draw  a  check,  but  long  enough  to  see 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Adams  depart — Adams  with  his  wife's 
arm  drawn  tenderly  within  his  own,  and  a  glad  light 
of  happy  content  on  his  face,  and  Elsie,  with  what 
he  had  never  seen  on  human  face  before — mingled 
joy  and  grief,  love  and  sorrow. 

When  the  Trescottes  arrived  at  home,  Hilda  re 
joiced  with  them  over  the  happy  settlement  of  the 
troubles  that  had  vexed  them  so  long,  and  astonished 
them  by  announcing  her  early  departure  for  Europe, 
smiling  curiously  at  their  wonder. 

What  most  amazed  the  people  involved  in  this 
tale  was  the  rapidity  with  which  the  essential  fact 
of  these  happenings — the  regularity  of  Dorothy's 
marriage — got  abroad. 

"  What  a  horrible  thing,  you  know !"  cried  Society. 
"Here  have  people  been  saying  something  was  very 
wrong  about  the  Trescotte  marriage,  when  it  turns 
out  there  was  nothing  wrong,  at  all.  It  is  positively 
awful  that  people  should  talk  so.  And  the  Tres 
cottes  were  so  reserved  and  high-minded  that  they 
would  not  stoop  to  deny  the  slander.  How  people 
can  do  such  things  passes  all  understanding.  I 
must  call  on  dear  Mrs.  Trescotte  and  show  that  at 
least  I  am  above  such  littleness." 

And  the  silver  salver  at  the  door  filled  up  rapidly 


272  SHOULD  SHE  HAVE  LEFT  HIM  f 

with  cards;  and  there  were  nods  and  bows,  and 
gracious  smiles  in  public  places,  and  invitations  to 
teas  and  dinners.  And  finally  came  the  apotheosis. 
The  Trescottes  found  their  names  high  up  on  the 
list  of  the  patron  Patriarchs,  as  Dorothy,  with  a 
merry  laugh,  showed  Mr.  Magrane  one  evening,  giv 
ing  that  gentleman  an  opportunity  to  indulge  his 
habit  of  quotation : 

"  Applause 

Waits  on  success,  the  fickle  multitude, 
Like  the  light  straw  that  floats  along  the  stream, 
Glide  with  the  current  still,  and  follow  fortune." 

He  sauntered  away  to  the  smoking  room,  very 
much  at  home  in  this  house,  to  the  happiness  of 
which  he  had  so  much  contributed. 

"This  is  'an  earthly  world.'  Downs,  give  me  a 
cigar." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"'When  to  do  harm  is  often  laudable;'  and  a 
glass  of  Madeira,  Downs." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"'To  do  good,  sometimes  accounted  dangerous 
folly.'" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Oh,  you  agree  with  Shakspere?  You're  a  phil 
osopher,  Downs." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Magrane  supplied  such  of  this  tale  as  was 
unknown  to  me  one  bright  moonlight  evening  on 


A   SIMPLE   SOLUTION  273 

the  deck  of  an  ocean  steamer,  about  a  year  after  the 
close  of  its  events,  prompted  from  time  to  time  by 
his  wife.  From  old  habit,  I  addressed  her  as  Mrs. 
Trevor-Allen.  She  corrected  me,  laughingly  saying 
that  though  she  had  increased  her  state  she  had 
diminished  her  name.  They  were  going  abroad 
for  a  prolonged  stay,  and  proposed  to  spend  some 
time  with  the  Duchess  of  Somersfield.  Did  I  recol 
lect  the  duchess?  Hilda  Courtenay,  you  know — 
she  who  was  divorced  from  young  Waldemar? 
Oh-h,  yes!  Indeed!  A  duchess,  hey! 


THE  END. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  FIGHT  FOR  A  THRONE 

D'Artagnan,  the 
King  Maker  .  .  . 

By  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 


Written  originally  by  Dumas  as  a  play,  and  now  for  the 
first  time  novelized  and  translated  into  English. 

The  Philadelphia  Enquirer  says  : 

"A  pretty  love  story  in  which  the  deboHair 
cavalier  falls  victim  to  Cupid's  wiles  is  one 
of  the  interesting  threads  running  through 
the  book." 

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"It  is  singular  that  this  bit  of  romance  has 
been  suffered  to  remain  hidden  away  for  so 
long  a  time.  D'Artagnan's  manner  of 
winning  the  hermit  kingdom  contains 
enough  thrills  to  repay  a  careful  reading. 
The  story  oozes  adventure  at  every  chapter." 

The  Brooklyn  Eagle  says  : 

"It  is  a  strong  tale  brimful  of  incident 
from  the  moment  when  Cardinal  Richelieu 
dispatches  the  redoubtable  D'Artagnan  on  his 
king-making  mission  to  Portugal. "... 

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Tons   of  Treasure 

By  WILLIAM  HENRY  BISHOP. 

Author  of  "DETMOI.B." 


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usually  trouble  brewing.  Nor  is  the  story 
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His  hero  is  a  manly  New  Yorker,  who  is 
fired  with  a  zeal  to  "make  good"  a  defalca 
tion  accredited  to  his  dead  father  .... 

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there  meets  a  dreamy-eyed  maid  who 
straightway  gives  him  first  place  in  her 
heart.  But  an  American  girl  has  already 
won  his  love.  It  is  a  pathetic  situation  and 
if  one  true  woman's  heart  breaks  before  the 
man's  mission  is  ended  who  is  to  blame? 

There  are  many  touching  incidents  in  the 
book,  but  none  more  full  of  pathos  than 
when  the  woman  who  loves  bares  her  soul 
to  the  woman  who  is  loved 

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nection  with  the  smart  set.  Her  attempts 
to  disguise  the  true  state  of  affairs  from  her 
out-of-town  friends  are  laughable  ;  but  the 
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and  a  rich  relative,  invited  to  dine  with 
her,  uncloaks  the  pitiable  fraud  .... 

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EERIE    TALES    OF    "CHINATOWN." 

Bits   of  .... 
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By  WILLIAM  E.  S.  FALES 

A  collection  of  captivating  novelettes  deal 
ing  with  life  in  New  York's  "Chinatown." 

The  struggles  and  ambitions  of  the  China 
man  in  America,  his  loves  and  jealousies, 
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these  are  the  materials  on  which  Mr.  Fales 
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esting  on  that  account.  The  author  has 
made  a  life  study  of  his  subject ;  and  no  one 
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By  MAX  ADELER. 


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Told  in  Slang 

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By  ELEANOR  A.  TENNANT. 


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PING    PONG 

AND 

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and  ARNOLD  PARKER,  Winner  of  the  Queen's 

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Edited  for  American  Players 
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